


the ambiguous case

by fernic



Series: the analytic methods of magic (or, a wizarding au) [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Harry Potter AU, I'm here I'm queer and I'm writing about gay magic and anxiety, M/M, because what other purpose do i have in life?, it's rated teen and up because of cursing and bullying mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-01 18:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11492001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernic/pseuds/fernic
Summary: Evan is in his sixth year when he shows up to Diagon Alley with a broken wand and a broken arm.





	1. two sides

**Author's Note:**

> listen.,, listen,., I know there is a school for magic in america.,,. but let's just,.. pretend that isn't a thing, alright? or just picture everyone with british accents, whatever makes ya happy my dudes
> 
> a special shout out to mrs. hammel, my froshie n sophomore (and junior but this was written before i knew i'd have you yet again<3<3) year math teacher for teaching me what the ambiguous case even is. little did she know id use that knowledge to create this gay mess. love u <3
> 
>  
> 
> _update: as of aug. 30 this piece has been edited and should no longer contain any grammar/minor spelling errors. enjoy the very final copy :3_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the thing: Evan's whole life at Hogwarts was a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate long notes so much so im super sorry about this but it's info that's pretty important: Okay so important stuff first: I changed the ages. Rather than being the age of high school seniors (17/18) like they are in the musical, all of them are sixth years in Hogwarts, which means they're 16/17 years old. **Trigger warnings are listed down below in the final paragraph of this long ass introductory note. Please check them!**
> 
> keep in mind it’s been like six years since I read the Harry Potter books. If anything is wrong, just message me on [my tumblr](http://cinnamuntoast.tumblr.com) or leave it be. I made up a few classes, too, one of which being Architectural Magic because I wanted the characters to be taking classes that I think would be offered in this day and age and that would suit them. Other than that, I briefly brushed up using the hp wiki page and skimmed some sections of the book, so hopefully, I didn’t get anything horribly wrong.
> 
> Trigger warnings (throughout both chapters): bullying mention, self-harm mention, descriptions of self-harm scars, description of anxiety/panic attack (1 only). All descriptions are purely based off of my own experiences. I am trying not to dramatize nor romanticize anything. Depression and anxiety aren't cute.
> 
> Enjoy!

Evan is in his sixth year when he shows up to Diagon Alley with a broken wand and a broken arm.

Already, he sees the way people stare at him, eyes darting like daggers. Their voices are whispers that taunt him, each one quiet and hushed as if it is trying to hide. He should be used to it by now: the confused glances, the questions in everyone's eyes, the pointed fingers low at people's waists, a bad attempt at hiding their judgment. He should be used to it, but he isn't. It still makes his blood run cold, makes his shoulders hurt from hiking them so far up to hide the way his ears turn red from embarrassment. It's all he can really do, after all; just hunch his shoulders and walk as fast as he can while he stares at the cobblestone that makes the pathways and hopes he fades into the background. Not too fast, of course. Just fast enough to pass people without having them look up at him. Just fast enough to not be noticed.

In his shirt pocket under his robe, something scratches against his chest and crawls up and around his shoulder. It scratches it’s way down to his cast and squeaks. Evan jumps, shuffling to the brick wall on the outside of Ollivander's and reaching through his robe sleeve, hands shaking until he feels soft fur.

"Not now, Squid," he hisses. The mouse squeaks again and scrambles back up his arm and settles into his shirt pocket, and Evan looks around to see if anyone saw him. They'd think he was talking to himself and then he'd be singled out again. He'd be ignored and teased and they'd trash his room like last time-

Evan breathes in. Holds. Exhales. He’s okay.

He walks into Ollivanders with his broken wand clenched in his fist. It's snapped clean in half, thanks to the asshole across the street picking it from his hands and snapping it over his knee snickering about how Evan was playing with stupid sticks at the age of sixteen. Evan supposes he deserved it- he wasn't supposed to be practicing magic out of Hogwarts anyways, not yet- but it still hurt to watch it break, to see the almost invisible dying breath of the wand, like it got darker, almost. He wasn't even practicing anything serious, just a little levitation charm on a bird's egg that had fallen out of its nest. He only used magic because he knew touching the egg might make the mother bird abandon it. But he guesses that doesn't matter much anyways.

What matters is he needs a new wand. Evan finally lifts his gaze from the floor and opens his mouth to speak the words he rehearsed in his head the entire car ride here, and then stops. All he sees is an empty counter, Mr. Ollivander nowhere in sight. Evan frowns but then takes another deep breath.

It's okay, he tells himself. He can figure out which wand he needs on his own. He looks at the two pieces in his hand and frowns. He can't remember what he had inside. Was it a strand of a Unicorn's mane, or maybe the heartstring of a dragon? Evan racks his brain for the combination, but he can't even begin to think. His hands start shaking. He's pretty sure he had willow wood for his wand. Or was it oak?

Evan groans and clenches the pieces of his wand in his fist. He's not even sure he'll be able to get another one. He just wanted to ask Mr. Ollivander if he could fix it. Maybe reuse the core, but he thinks that's near impossible. And even if his wand could be saved, Evan knows how much money it would cost to get it repaired, and he knows about the seven galleons he has in his pocket. If there's any hope for it being repaired, he’s going to spend all his money, which means he’ll have to reuse last year’s robes. It's fine, he didn't grow all that much, but he could still stop by the bank  
and see if his dad left him any money for the new school year. If worst comes to worst, though, Evan would just send an owl to his mom-

Someone shoves past him, their shoulder butting right into his own, and Evan almost falls to the ground face first. Luckily (and sadly), he has experience with being shoved to the ground, so he twists himself and makes it so he lands hard on his butt, saving himself from another broken arm and preventing Squid from getting crushed in his pocket. The mouse squeaks in alarm, and Evan scrambles up to his feet, not even looking up at who shoved him. He just wills himself to go invisible.

"You can't just take up the whole fucking aisle," they say. Evan feels his stomach clench and twist.

"S-sorry," he stammers. "I was just thinking and trying to remember what I need in my wand, and I guess I could just ask Mr. Ollivander but he wasn't at the counter and I don't want to ring the bell in case he's on an important call-"

"Whatever," the other boy snaps. Evan flinches and looks up, and then freezes because he knows that face. He knows that crooked green tie and wrinkled collar, the way his black robe hangs open, barely clinging to his shoulders.

It's Connor. Connor Murphy.

"You look familiar," Connor says. Evan shakes his head and takes a step back.

"No, I-I'm nobody-"

"No, you're definitely someone. The kid who hacked up a fur ball in class two years ago? No, wait, that was- _ah_." Connor snaps his fingers. "You're the weird one, right? The only mistake the Sorting Hat has ever made?"

Evan winces and immediately regrets it, because just like that, his cover is blown, and he is no longer invisible.

Connor grins, all teeth and malice, and steps forward, wood creaking beneath his feet. Evan almost squeaks, but Squid does that for him, scrambling her way up his chest until her head pokes out of the neckline of his robe.

"That _is_ you, isn't it?" Connor presses. Every word is harsh and unrelenting, invoking fear that just grows and grows.

Evan shakes his head. "The Sorting Hat doesn't make mistakes. I mean- well, it even said that I belonged in Gryffindor-"

"Ha! Please." Connor leans forward, and Evan arches his back. "As if you could really be Gryffindor. You can't even speak a full sentence without stuttering-"

Behind them, someone clears their throat, and Connor slowly stands up straight again. Evan feels his soul return to his body, shoulders sagging in relief. Even Squid chirps in rejoice for not being involved in another fight.

Is it fighting if you're just someone's punching bag?

"Is that a broken wand I see, Hansen?" Mr. Ollivander asks. Evan smiles at him for drawing him out of what was most likely going to be a nasty situation, but then frowns when he looks back down at his wand.

"Yes, sir," he says. Mr. Ollivander beckons him forward, and Evan leaves Connor behind in favor of dropping his broken wand on the counter. Mr. Ollivander takes out a magnifying glass and inspects each piece, and then sighs.

"If you were hoping on recycling some of the wand, I'm afraid to say it's impossible. The core is completely severed."

Evan frowns even deeper, and all he can manage is, "Oh."

"Don't worry, having a wand isn't like having a soul mate; there are many fit for a brilliant young wizard like you!" Mr. Ollivander walks around and leaves from behind the counter, leaving Evan to follow him while he goes to a tall shelf, all of them in varying box colors with scribbled labels on dirtying tape. He grabs a few and walks back to the counter. Connor watches, his own wand held delicately in both hands, and when he meets Evan's eye, he goes back to looking at the different handle designs on the wands that are displayed.

Evan tries several wands, but none of them work all that well. It's the connection, Mr. Ollivander insists. You have to be willing to bond with another wand for it to work.

But Evan can't. That was his first wand, the one that he first felt, the first one he really knew. It had taken him eleven tries to find the perfect wand, and once he had held that one, he knew it was right before the sparks flew out of the tip. Evan looks at his broken wand and sighs. Mr. Ollivander hums in thought.

"Let me try one more," he says before leaving Evan to disappear somewhere in the back of his shop. Evan fiddles with the two pieces of his old wand. He knows the combination of it now: unicorn mane and the wood of a cherry blossom. It's also small; the shortest Ollivander makes them, 9 inches.

 _Your character has a little time to grow_ , he had said when Evan purchased his first wand. He was wrong. It's been years, and if anything, Evan feels like he's been getting smaller.

"How'd it break?"

Evan looks up. Connor is staring at him, expression strangely somber. Evan looks back down at his hands, fingers picking at his nails. "Some kid broke it. He snapped it over his knee because he thought it was a stick-"

"No, not your wand. Your arm." Connor nods at his cast and at Squid, who has decided her new resting place is Evan's hand. He strokes her fur absentmindedly.

"Oh, um, I fell off a tree."

Connor nods his head slowly. "That's... pathetic. That's the most pathetic thing I've ever heard."

Evan knows. Other people have told him enough times. Still, all he can do it stare at Connor in shock and silently thank whatever's out there when Mr. Ollivander sets down a box on the counter.

"How about this one, then?" He hands Evan the wand and immediately, Evan feels himself smile at the little tug of something he feels when he grasps the wand. It's the _magic_ something, the feeling he gets whenever he pulls off a spell without stuttering or shaking, or kicks off on his broomstick, or feels a connection to any kind of magical thing.

It's that something that tells him that this wand will work, and it does.

One whispered _Lumos_ and one illuminated wand-tip later and Evan is pulling out the Galleons in his pocket, putting six down on the counter and digging in for the seventh. Squid squeaks and Evan puts her on the counter in favor of reaching into his shirt pocket for the last Galleon, fingers brushing against nothing but lint and the cotton of his shirt. That's when he freezes, runs his finger along the bottom of his pocket and feels his breath catch in his throat because there is no other coin.

He thought he had seven, he _swore_ that he counted seven. Mr. Ollivander clears his throat, and Evan forces himself to speak. He feels his words push past the wall of air stuck in his throat, squeezes his shaking hands into fists and looks down at the floor.

"Let me go to the bank, I'll- it'll just take a moment-"

Another Galleon is slapped down on the counter, the sharp sound of metal clipping wood enough to make Evan jump. He looks at the hand that put the coin down, gazes up the length of a covered arm until he's looking straight in their face. It's Connor, who looks at the pile of six coins and then slides his own over.

"You dropped this," he says. Evan hesitates and then manages to smile. He's a little surprised; he thought Connor would be the kind of person to pocket the coin rather than that the return it. Nonetheless, Evan tries to make his gratitude heard.

"Thank you," he offers, but he must be too quiet, or Connor must ignore him or not care at all because all he does is turn around and walk away. 

Evan watches, stares at the back of Connor's head and at the short waves of his growing hair until he exits out the door, the bell above the door ringing. Evan doesn't even realize he's zoned out until Mr. Ollivander taps him on the shoulder and hands him the box with his wand in it. Evan takes it and opens his palm for Squid, letting her crawl up to his shoulder before he turns to leave, shouting a quick thank you over his shoulder.

And if when he leaves the shop and raises his head to see where Connor went, it's only because he wants to avoid running into him. Nothing else, nothing more, Evan thinks.

(But it is more. There is something more, something so wrongly right about what he's doing, and it scares him.)

*

Here's the thing: Evan's whole life at Hogwarts was a mistake.

He's a Muggle-born, a Mudblood, and some days that fact alone is enough to make him want to tear every strand of magic out of him. Some days it's just a little nagging feeling of not belonging amongst the other purebloods. On rare days, he feels a little proud of his uniqueness. Those days are usually when he's home from Hogwarts and talking about the castle to his mom, watching her tired eyes light up and seeing her smile and feeling her arms wrap around him as he spins lies about new friends he made and how well his magic has been doing.

Most nights, though, Evan lays awake at night staring at the ceiling of his room or his dorm and finds himself pleading to whatever's out there to just give it to someone else.

Because Evan has found that you can't have both. You can't have this wonderful gift only to have it ruined with the inability to speak right. You can't have all the magic in the world coexist with anxiety so great it chokes you just from being there.

There's just no point.

*

The train ride to Hogwarts is unbearable.

It's hard for him to even get to station 9 3/4. He's too worried about the normal people, the Muggles. He's afraid they'll see a kid running smack into a wall, and then what will he do? He pushes his small luggage cart behind the corner of station 9 and waits. He counts five other students who run into the wall with big smiles and excited yells and shouts before he himself prepares to go through. Squid is still perched on his arm, and she crawls so she's back to hiding half under his robe in the back of his neck. He reaches up to scratch her head and then takes a deep breath.

He runs. He doesn't scream, he doesn't smile, he just prays that he's running towards the right wall. Because even though he knows he is, even though he saw exactly three boys and two girls run through the same exact spot, something in him floods up to his neck and makes his palms sweat and his brain fuzz with the worries of what will happen if this _isn't_ the right wall, what people would say if he slammed into hard brick and got knocked out, what would happen to Squid and all his textbooks and his new wand-

He breaks through the threshold and it feels like a deep gulp of air after an eternity of drowning.

It takes him less than a minute to compose himself enough to push his cart and start to load his luggage. It takes him until the train starts moving to find an empty cabin tucked in the back. It takes him half the ride to contemplate on whether or not the girl who passed by his cabin and looked in thought he was a loser for sitting alone, and it takes him about five seconds to finally realize that it shouldn't be a surprise to him if she did think that, because he's used to it.

The rest of the ride is spent with him staring out the window and fighting the urge to eat some of the snacks his mom helped him pack. He watches the scenery change while he runs his finger down Squid's back as she sleeps on his lap, her white coat only slightly dirty after he let her explore around the train for a little bit.

"You need a bath, Squid, like seriously," Evan mumbles. The door to his cabin slides open, and Evan jumps and looks up.

"Do _not_ tell me I just walked in on you having a conversation with your rat," Jared says. Evan goes red and gulps.

"She's a mouse, not a rat. Rats are gross. Mice are small and cute. And smart," Evan adds.

Jared shivers. "Nothing that lives in the walls of houses and gets tricked and killed by stupid traps is smart. Nor is it cute." He sits across from Evan and hunches over, pressing his elbows on his knees. "Okay, let me see it."

"What?"

"Your arm! Let me see it, I'll fix it right up-" Jared holds his wand up and grabs Evan's arm and closes his eyes. " _Brackium Emen-_ "

"No!" Evan yanks his arm away and pulls it close to his chest. "You are not using that stupid spell. What if you mess up?"

Jared rolls his eyes. "You're going to look like an idiot. What wizard would walk around with a broken arm when they can use magic to fix it?"

"I'll go to a Professor when we get there. One that won't mess it up," Evan says. "Plus, my mom said it was best to let it heal the natural way."

"Your mom isn't a wizard, Evan. She doesn't know what she's saying." Evan glares at him, and Jared frowns. "Not like she's _dumb_ , but she doesn't understand that magic _is_ natural."

Evan sighs. Jared is right, after all. Ravenclaws almost always are.

*

Jared walks him to the Gryffindor tower but doesn't step inside.

Evan doesn't mind. Well, he does a little, but he understands. The tension between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw is small and almost nothing compared to the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, but it's still there. Evan is still surprised Jared even hangs out with him. And despite Jared's claim that it's all his parents doing, an act of pity after he couldn't even introduce himself to them after they congratulated him on a project they completed as partners in his first year, Evan lets himself believe that the smallest bit of Jared might actually think of Evan as a real friend.

But even so, that part of him must be very small- small enough to let Evan deal with the Common Room on his own.

He approaches the portrait and waits for someone else to come by and give him the password. His luggage has all been shrunk and put in his pocket, and he only holds his wand in his hand. Squid hangs out on his shoulder while he tries to think of the stupid password for the painting to reveal the door.

Eventually, the portrait swings open, and some students walk out, all of them probably unpacked and ready to go walk around the castle and meet up with old friends. They all gaze past Evan as if they're looking right through him, and Evan slips past them quickly before the portrait closes.

Once he's inside the Common Room, he gives himself a moment to take it all in. The beginning of the year is his favorite, he thinks. This is when everyone is too caught up in the joy of being back at school that they don't have time to give Evan any unwanted attention. He recognizes a few other kids in his own year, who look away right when they see him. It hurts, but it's better than being engaged in awkward conversation.

His dorm room is just like he remembers it. It's small because he doesn't have a roommate. The last ones he was assigned to wrecked his room and trashed his things while he was away during Christmas break his second year, and ever since then, he has had his own room. Not like he cares. Having roommates was nice, at first, but it only took them a month to stop talking to him and ignore him altogether.

So he sleeps alone. He doesn't have to deal with anyone's snoring except his own, and Squid can leave her cage whenever she wants without worrying about scaring another boy who doesn't see her when he gets up to get a glass of water or go to the bathroom.

Evan removes the shrunk pieces of his luggage and lays them on the floor, pulling out his wand and placing Squid on his bed.

" _Engorgio_ ," he whispers, moving his wand in the direction of his first suitcase. It swells back to its original size, and he repeats it with his other luggage until everything is relatively back to normal. He must have accidentally charmed his luggage chest a bit too big because some of his clothes are just the slightest bit bigger on him, but he supposes he can spell them back later. For now, he's exhausted.

The bed freaks when he lays down on it, but the mattress is soft, just like he wants it to be, and he sinks into it, closing his eyes and falling asleep before he can even pull up the covers.

*

He wakes up to Alana spelling him off of his bed.

He hits the ground hard, wood floor bruising his tailbone and making him gasp out in pain. She stands above him and taps her foot, adjusting her blue tie.

“Jared told me to come and get you. He's such a baby, won't even step foot in the Gryffindor tower. Like, grow up, right?” She spells him up to his feet, and then motions for his arm. “I won't mess up. You know I won't mess up, so let me fix it.”

Evan holds his broken arm close to his chest. “No, um, I want to keep it.”

Alana crosses her arms and sighs, and when Evan looks at the ground and doesn't meet her eye, she puts her wand away.

“Fine, but… if you change your mind, I’ll fix it. Come on, your nap is going to make us late.” She walks swiftly to the door and pushes it wide open, only watching and Squid scampers out the door. She looks up at Evan and asks, “Isn't there a rule about pets at the table?”

Evan shrugs and pulls on his robe and says, “It’s alright. She’ll only eat the crumbs on the floor.”

The walk through the Gryffindor Common room; it's completely deserted, couches and chairs still sagging from the weight of students who have just left no more than five minutes ago. Evan has to take big steps to keep up with Alana’s short, curt ones, and he's almost out of breath by the time they reach the Dining Hall.

“How’d you get into the Common Room, anyway?” Evan asks Alana when they walk through the doors. Squid ran off, probably crawling through the tower walls, but Evan doesn't worry. She always comes back.

Alana shrugs. “I walked in while other people were walking out. No one said anything.” She turns and starts to walk to the Ravenclaw table, and Evan raises his hand in a silent wave, but she doesn't turn around to bid him goodbye.

If Evan were brave, he'd yell a thank you all the way across the Dining Hall, jump up and wave his arms to make sure she saw him. He wouldn't care about the other Gryffindor’s, who think he's weird for only having two Ravenclaw’s as friends. He wouldn't care about the way people would stare at him and maybe laugh at his broken arm. If Evan was anything like a Gryffindor at all, he wouldn't care if he was seen. He'd bask in the attention. He'd crave more.

But Evan isn't like a Gryffindor. He isn't like any of the houses. He is dysfunctional, and he lets his hand drop and walks quickly to find a seat, squeezing between two girls who are a few years below him and give him pitiful glances. They stare at his cast and say something to him, pointing out that there's a spell to fix broken bones. Evan just nods and shrugs, and tries to stop overthinking. He can't stop remembering the stupid wave at Alana, at how she just walked away. Did she not see him? Or did she ignore him on purpose?

He knows people saw him wave and saw her ignore him. Now they probably think he's some kind of creep, or that he’s weird and has no friends. It wouldn't be wrong, to think that. Everyone will talk about him and he’s going to be even more of an outcast than he already is-

“Can I sit here?”

Evan looks up, and suddenly, he can't breathe. Zoe Murphy looks down at him and gestures at the now empty seat to his left. The two girls had moved somewhere else without him noticing. Evan looks back up at her, stares at her mustard yellow striped tie and tries to smile. Then he stops because he knows his smile is lopsided and probably makes him look bad. Then he smiles again because he figures lopsided or not, she’d probably think he was being rude if he didn't look friendly. She's a Hufflepuff, and you can't just _not_ be nice to a Hufflepuff; it's like asking the entire school to think you're a monster.

“Um, yeah, totally! No one is sitting here, and I can move over more of you need more room- not like you'd need more room, I mean, you're small- not like that's a bad thing!” Evan babbles. He shuts his lips and presses them together to stop embarrassing himself further. God, he's such an idiot. Zoe probably thinks he's stupid and will leave to go sit somewhere else. 

She stares at him for a second, and once Evan is praying to whatever’s out there to strike him down and kill him, she laughs.

(She laughs, and Evan is pretty sure he ascends to a plane of existence far beyond where any magic could take him.)

“Thank you. The Hufflepuff table was getting a little too friendly.” She points to the Hufflepuff table and sure enough, Evan just sees a clump of students hugging, leaving no personal space. “I’m claustrophobic, so I had to leave. I don't think the professors would really care, anyways. They're too caught up with the sorting hat frenzy.”

She sits and they talk, missing almost the entire naming ceremony. Evan doesn't care anyways. It's just another class of kids that will look at him weirdly and whisper about him in the Common Room. It's just another wave of misery for him. Talking to Zoe helps, and Evan won't lie, he's always admired her from afar, especially since she's a wicked Quidditch player, and he did have a little (huge) crush on her up until his fourth year, but then he realized he had no chance when she admitted to him that she had a preference for girls.

That doesn't mean she still doesn’t intimidate Evan. Zoe is beautiful, like, possibly the prettiest girl in Hogwarts, and maybe Evan is a little biased, but the fact still stands strong. Zoe is everything Evan wishes he were: confident, strong, cool, loved by everyone. Maybe that's why Evan liked her in the first place; he thought that having her and loving her would make those qualities rub off on him.

By the end of the naming ceremony, Evan is relaxed. Well, as relaxed as he can get. He’s still very nervous and is pretty sure his hands are really sweaty, but he hasn't said anything really weird. All of the first year students have been placed, and they all sit at the far end of the table, buzzing with the excitement of being placed in their House. The feast is as grand as it always is, and Evan would be lying if he said there wasn't anything he missed at Hogwarts because the food is something he definitely looks forward to every year.

His night is going wonderfully until he feels something wet start to run down the back of his neck.

He gasps and jumps up, knocking over his glass of water and making it spill all over Zoe, who yelps and jumps to get out of the way. Evan turns around and sees two older Gryffindor kids laughing, both of them tall and holding an empty glass of what must be Birch Beer above their heads.

“What’s wrong, Mudblood? Can’t use your magic with a broken arm?”

Evan frowns and looks at his seat, which is now sticky and wet with the drink they spilled on him. Zoe is being rushed away by a few Gryffindor girls that she must be friends with, all of them using napkins to dab at the wet spot on her pants and sending dirty looks over her shoulder at Evan. Evan looks down at the floor and closes his eyes. He must be feeling brave, a little after effect from talking with Zoe because he actually speaks up.

“I can use my magic just fine,” he mumbles. The taller one bends down and scoffs.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you, Hansen. Are you a mute now?”

Evan wants to scream. He wants to reel his fist back and punch him in the face, wants to shove him over and spit in his eye and scream spells and curses at him until he can’t walk anymore. Evan wants to break out of the prison he made for himself and finally just let go.

But when he tightens his fist, he realizes his hands are shaking, and then he knows that it’s pointless. He’s always going to have this weight on him, always going to have this shadow looming over his shoulder and telling him that everything he does is wrong. He has to tread carefully; he can’t get expelled. He can’t go home to his mom and disappoint her. He can’t ruin the idea she has of him, can’t tell her that the school he goes to is horrible in every way.

He just can’t do it.

So he doesn’t say anything. He stands there, staring at the floor, closing his eyes when the tall one’s friend starts to pour his drink on top of Evan’s head, too, and when they walk away cackling, he remains standing still. Silent. Waiting. Wishing. He looks at the backs of the two boys and wishes he could somehow just be invisible-

In an instant, the taller one _soares_ , an invisible force causing him to fly forward until he slams into the castle wall. Everyone turns and stares, and when the boy turns around, Evan cringes when he sees the blood smeared on his face, all of it gushing out of his nose and dropping down his chin. He looks like a monster, a murderous monster, and that's when Evan realizes he should be running.

Because he's walking right towards him, stalking over as everyone just watches, each footstep slow and calculated and _furious_. He slowly wipes his sleeve of his white shirt under his nose and only smears the blood, and Evan’s eyes go wide as he puts his hands up.

“I didn't do that, I _swear_ I didn't do that,” he insists.

But he's not listening, and Evan is frozen, stuck in one place because no matter how much he knows he didn't do it, he can't help but worry about how much worse it would be if he ran away.

So he waits for the punch or for the spell that will knock him backward or for any other amount of pain he can receive, but nothing happens. When he looks up, the boy is standing still, looking over Evan’s shoulder across the Dining Hall, and Evan follows his line of sight until he sees exactly what has shocked him into holding back.

Connor Murphy is sitting on the table, legs crossed and wand pointed with the tip almost glowing with stored power, and Evan knows that any _Flipendo_ used with that much power behind it is gonna cause much more than just a broken nose. He stares at Evan and then looks over at the taller boy and smiles.

“You know, I rarely give compliments, but it think red is a _really_ nice color on you,” He says. Evan knows Connor doesn't really have a crew or group of friends in Slytherin, or at least he doesn't think he does, but that gets a few cheers and laughs from his House, and he smiles even wider. “I mean, it really compliments your eyes.”

“Bastard. Why don't you walk over here and I'll break your nose, too?” The boy shouts. Evan can't remember his name. Johnson? Jackson? He doesn't suppose it matter, anyways.

“Nah, I'm good over here. I prefer to observe my fights. Plus, I don't think you can take me on.”

“You can't hurt me,” Johnson/Jackson snarls.

“Hmm,” Connor hums, tilting his head. “That's interesting because I thought I just did.”

Other Gryffindors start to protest and get up from their seats, pressing out wrinkles from their cloaks and pulling out their wands, and Evan knows this is his chance to leave. It was Connor who wanted a fight, and he's probably going to get one if one of the professors doesn't step in first. But that probably isn't going to happen, because, with all the excitement and noise from the lower years, it's hard to even see the small groups of houses that have started to stand up and talk across the room to each other, laughing insults that are more for teasing sake than actual malice.

But what Connor says cuts deep, and Evan can feel it, even though it's not directed at him. He curses and holds his wand steady, always looking past Evan, never paying him any mind, and Evan can't move until he feels something crawl across his foot. He looks down and sees Squid, sniffing at his pant leg and waiting to be picked up, so Evan bends down and grabs her, and that's enough to get his legs working.

He leaves the Dining Hall in the middle of the chaos. One of the Professors must have seen one of the kids standing up on the chairs and waving their wand around in empty threats because it's quieter when he reaches the door. He doesn't know where he's going, doesn't know how he'll make it through the night having to worry about the kids in his own House and how they can hurt him, because all he can focus on is the two boys and the stickiness on the back of his neck and in his hair.

In his head, there’s a constricting thought, a belief that suffocates him, and no matter how much he tries to deny it, no matter how much it hurts to even think about, he can't help but tell himself he doesn't belong here.

*

Evan walks to the edge of the castle grounds to the line of dark trees that condense into a forest.

He knows it's dangerous, but he also knows that as long as he stays on the very edge, the protective wards will prevent him from getting hurt. So he just stands on the edge and stares at the tall trees and watches various woodland creatures run around the forest floor.

He wishes he were home. He wishes he were normal.

He once told his mom that he'd rather be a Muggle than a wizard.

It was the summer of his Fourth year when he illegally practiced healing spells in the emptiness of his bedroom because he knew he'd need them. He had gotten three black eyes that year alone, and other bruising from kids shoving past him and even knocking him off of his broom. Granted, they were never completely on purpose. Evan has always been invisible, and most of the time, the people that hurt him were sorry. They’d heal his bruises and walk with him to the nurse and wait until the nurse treated him before they eventually left and forgot about him. Once, another Gryffindor girl started crying when she rammed into Evan on her broom and caused a giant bruise on his hip. 

_I didn’t see you,_ she had cried while trying to put a healing spell on him. She was too emotional, and they didn't hold. _I swear, I didn’t even know you were there_.

Hearing that made Evan’s heart hurt so much it felt like it wasn’t there at all.

When his mother asked why he would ever want that, he lied and said he just missed home. He couldn't tell her the truth after her smile fell after she dropped her fork on the floor and didn't bother to pick it up. So he lied and said that the homesickness was too much, and she smiled and promised that she’d take off work ahead of time to ensure she was home whenever he had a break.

The truth was that he didn't see the point. Evan still doesn't see the point, but at least he has a purpose to finishing school now. He’s gonna finish for his mom, so she can look at him and think she's doing something right by sending him to an amazing school that's part of a world so unique and great. So she can think that her son is special.

The first thing he did when he got back from Christmas break that year was walk to the forest and wonder how fast it would take him to die if he walked in.

Evan lied, and he's still here, still peering at the edge of the forest, but now he's fighting the bile that rises in the back of his throat and ignoring the burn of his broken arm, trying not to remember because now he knows that being closer to death doesn’t really solve anything. If anything, it just makes things worse.

*

The thing that really gets to him is the fact that even the hat didn't know where he belonged.

It's hard to believe because the Sorting Hat always knows. It knows because it sees into your heart and it can tell. It reads you as easy as an adult can read a children's book. And if that doesn't work, it takes into consideration what _you_ believe, where you think you deserve to be.

Evan didn't know where he belonged. He looked at all the houses when he was eleven and felt a crushing feeling in his chest because he knew that no matter where he went, he would be shut out.

The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and it was silent.

Six and a half minutes. That is how long it took. Even knows because he counted every second, cataloged every moment with shame, and through the entire length of time, the hat only asked this:

"Where do _you_ think you belong?"

 _Nowhere_ , Evan had thought. _I belong nowhere._

*

In the end, the Sorting Hat chose Gryffindor.

It told him he would grow into it. It said he just needed time to really prove he deserved those colors.

It's been six years, and Evan is still waiting for that change.

*

"Why’s your arm still broken?"

Evan turns. He's in Herbology, trying to memorize different plants and flowers and roots that he's supposed to remember from last year. Herbology is one of his favorite classes, that and Caring for Magical Creatures, a class he has been taking since it was required in his third year.

It's a peaceful room, with plants and different flowers and bushes hanging from the ceiling and sitting on the windowsill, and Evan is actually enjoying himself. It's been a week since he spent twenty minutes in the shower scrubbing the stickiness of the Birch Beer that was spilled on him out of his hair and off of his neck. One week since the realization hit him that it just keeps getting worse.

Granted, he's doing better than he was doing that night. Jared has been talking with him more, and even Alana drops by the Gryffindor Common Room sometimes, usually just to show off that she's smart enough to overhear or figure out the password when no one lets her in.

Yeah, Evan’s doing alright, but then someone asks him that question, the one that he's been asked by every student and professor he comes across, all of them wondering why he hasn't just had it spelled back together, and it's enough to make him clench his quill tightly and mess up his drawing of an interesting leaf that had fallen from one of the plants that hang from the ceiling

"Because I just want it to heal naturally," Evan mumbles.

"That's a painfully slow process," they say, and Evan finally opens his eyes and looks up, and then stops.

It's Connor, who looks down at him and taps his fingers against the table.

"I mean," Connor continues, "it looks sad, just having a plain cast like that." Evan doesn't know what to say, so he just nods, and finally, Connor takes in a deep breath and lets out what he has probably been holding in for the entire class. "I'm saying that you could have some people sign it. That's what Muggles do, right? I mean, maybe not anymore..."

Evan blinks. He hadn't even thought of that.

"No, we- I mean, they do. I don't think anyone would want to sign mine, though," he mumbles. That's the truth. No one in Gryffindor would because they see him as a let down to the name, someone they have to drag along. Dead weight. Jared wouldn't sign it because he'd just want to cast the stupid spell and then cut the plaster off, calling it a waste of time. Alana would do the same but in a nicer fashion, maybe with a few better excuses, too.

Connor must see Evan thinking, because he claps his hand against the table to grab his attention, and then takes a deep breath and says, "Well, I'll sign it."

Evan looks away. "It's okay, you don't have to-"

Connor grabs a quill out of the small jar of ink and pulls Evans broken arm towards him, freezing and being more gentle when Evan whimpers at the little pain that shoots up his arm from moving it too fast. He writes big, messy letters, careful to let the ink seep into the plaster until he spells “CONNOR” so big it takes up all the space across the entire side of Evans cast. When he’s done, Evan twists his arm to see it properly. He frowns.

"Oh… thanks,” Evan mumbles.

"Yeah." Connor puts the feather back in the ink. He doesn't smile when Evan tries to look friendly. "Well, now we can both pretend we have friends."

Evan opens his mouth to speak, but then their professor taps her wand against the desk and starts talking about the new plants they're going to learn about this year, and somewhere in the middle of her speech, Connor fades away before Evan can even say anything.

*

It's October when Jared is finally able to drag him out of his dorm to go see the Quidditch game. It's the first one of the season: Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw.

At the Quidditch Pitch, Evan gets more than a few weird looks. He tells himself it’s because of his cast and not the name written on it. It has faded a little bit, but Connor’s name is going to be on Evan’s arm until Christmas break when he can go to the doctor and get the cast taken off. Until then, he has to deal with the unwanted attention. Jared, unfortunately, does too.

“You’re making me feel like an idiot,” Jared says as they walk to the bleachers. They stop at the Gryffindor tower, and Evan looks up at the seemingly hundreds of people and starts to feel queasy. He hates crowds. And heights. 

Evan turns to Jared with a smile. “You know, I'm actually gonna go back to my room. I have homework and stuff-”

“No,” Jared groans. “No, no, no. I didn't drag you out here for you to pussy out. Just find a seat with someone and watch the game.”

“But-”

“No. You're going to watch, and you know why?” Jared leans in and smirks. “Because Zoe Murphy is the keeper for Hufflepuff this year.” Evan blinks. He didn't know that. “And even if you have literally no chance with her, your weird perverted crush apparently still exists, so you're welcome,” he continues. Evan flushes red and opens his mouth to object and correct Jared and say no, he doesn't have a crush on Zoe, not anymore, but by the time he looks up again, Jared is already pushing past people to get to where all the Ravenclaw's have gathered.

 _I can do this_ , he tells himself. He knows he can. Jared dragged him out here and Zoe is waiting to get on the field and he can _do this_.

He sits near the bottom of the tower so he's level with the game and right near the barrier. When the Ravenclaw team flies in, everyone cheers. Even Hufflepuffs cheer and clap. It's a shame because when the Hufflepuffs gather on the field, the Ravenclaws are silent. Evan makes sure to cheer extra loud, especially when Zoe flies into position.

Her broomstick is new, and when the balls are thrown into play and the players take off, she becomes a blur in the air. Evan tries to follow her with his eyes, but quickly loses sight of her.

He expects the Ravenclaw team to gain a lead, but almost instantly, a Hufflepuff Chaser hits the Quaffle into the goalpost on the far right. There’s booing from the Ravenclaw Towers, but the cheering basically drowns it out. 

Evan catches Zoe in glimpses. There’s a close call, where the Ravenclaw Seeker yells in triumph and she stops, right in front of the tower Evan is in, but it's a false call as the Snitch turns sharply and whizzes by. The score is 210-160, with Ravenclaw leading.

It's two hours in and both the Keepers have been blocking goals for a while now, redirecting the Quaffle with a hit of their broomstick, and that's when Evan hears it. Through the anxious breathing of the crowd behind him and the yells of commands from both teams on the field, it's there, close. The Snitch whistles like a bee and stops, vibrating in midair, not only five feet away from him.

Evan gasps. He can't help it. The people next to him follow his gaze and scream, pointing to the air in front of them and trying to get the attention of whatever Seeker that's on the team they're rooting for. 

Evan sees Zoe stop and zero in on where everyone is yelling. He also sees the Ravenclaw Seeker do the same thing. They both jolt forward, and the Snitch disappears, flying somewhere else. Kids next to him stand up, and Evan joins them, careful not to fall over as he watches both Seekers fight, bumping up next to each other. A Bludger knocks the Ravenclaw off his broom, and it's just Zoe, flying high into the air and then diving down and Evan thinks he sees her reaching out-

She stops, and everyone holds their breath.

In her hand, the Snitch shines, and the crowd goes wild.

*

After the game, Evan goes to the bottom of the pitch.

He doesn't know why. He wants to congratulate her, but he knows he wouldn't have the words to. Watching is enough.

When he sees Zoe, surrounded by friends and her younger teammates, his chest fills with want. The captain ruffles her hair and pulls her in for a hug, and Evan thinks she starts crying. Evan smiles and turns to leave, but then Zoe looks up and stares right at him.

His heart jumps into his throat.

Behind him, someone shuffles away, and Evan turns around and sees Connor Murphy disappearing around the corner. A weird feeling settles in his stomach, and when he turns back to Zoe, it only worsens. She watches Connor leave with a falling smile and then turns back to her teammates and laughs. She's still crying, but Evan doesn't think it has to do with winning anymore.

Evan’s running away before he knows it.

He's not that athletic, and Connor is taller than him with long strides that put more distance between them than he expected, but Evan still runs after him. He should be meeting Jared back at the Ravenclaw tower- that's what they agreed on- and he should be minding his own business and walking away and leaving whatever sibling drama between Zoe and Connor alone, but somehow, he can't. This feels worse. 

It's no secret to anyone that Connor and Zoe don't get along. Most people don't even know they're siblings, and when the find out, they don't believe it easily. Evan sees why. Zoe is kind and sweet, nice to everyone but stands up for herself, too, while Connor is just… Connor. 

(Although, deep down, Evan has been questioning exactly what that means. Connor has saved him twice, if you include the money incident back before school even started, which goes against anything anyone has ever said about who he is.)

By the time Evan runs up to Connor, he's out of breath. He grabs his cloak and pulls him back, and Connor jumps away and shoves Evan to the ground.

“Get off of me!” He yells.

Evan winces at the feeling of anxiety itching at his skin. It curls up inside of him and makes his breathing more labored than it was before. He thinks he might throw up, but he forces the words out of his mouth because Connor is still walking away and Zoe is crying and he can fix this. For once he can do something _right_ and not be such a failure. So he opens his mouth, and he says the only thing he hopes will make Connor stop.

“Zoe asked me to get you!”

It's a lie. It's a big, fat lie and Evan regrets it the second it comes out of his mouth. He should have gone back to Jared and minded his own business and-

“She did?” Connor looks at Evan with eyes so wide and big they seem to take up half his face. He looks like he doesn't believe it. He looks hopeful, almost. Evan feels his heart squeeze, although he doesn't know why. He's still nervous and can't stop pulling up grass with his shaking hands, and he doesn't think he's breathing.

“Y-yeah, she did,” he answers, so soft it's like a whisper. “O-or next time, she wants to see you.”

Connor looks back at the pitch, at the towers that are farther away than Evan realized, and he shakes his head.

“No, she's gone by now, there's no point-”

“Maybe she isn't,” Evan interrupts. He clamps his mouth shut. He's never done that before.

Connor bits his lip and Evan watches with a weird fascination. It's weird, he realizes, recognizing his own nervous habits are the same as someone else's.

“Alright,” Connor finally says. “Let's go, then.”

Evan almost chokes. “W-what? No, I’ll leave you two alone-”

“No,” Connor says.

“But-”

“No. I'm not gonna look like a fucking moron walking back to the school by myself if she's gone.”

Evan thinks that, if anything, Connor will look lamer if he's seen walking back with Evan, but before he can tell him that, before he can warn Connor that being with Evan only brings more trouble, Connor steps forward and stops right in front of him, and somehow, he offers Evan his hand.

(Evan feels the tug of a memory, so faded from pushing it away it's like a dream, and his eyes burn pathetically. He smells the forest and feels a phantom burn in his arm and looks up and thinks, for half of an instant, he might be seeing an angel.)

“Well?” Connor wiggles his hand a little, and Evan reaches up and grabs it.

When they're halfway back to the pitch, Evan sees the Hufflepuff team rise up in their broomsticks and fly back to the castle. Connor stops and watches them, hand clenching to a fist by his side, and he turns around again.

“You lied,” he says. 

Evan winces. “It's the only way I thought you would stop.”

“Yeah, well it just wasted my damn time.” 

“You can always congratulate her next time!”

Connor glares at him in the corner of his eye. “The next Hufflepuff game is in February, and they're up against Slytherin. She’s not going to win.”

“Well, y-you don’t know that.”

Connor stops and Evan stops with him. He turns to Evan and looks at him like he’s just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. “You really think Hufflepuff can beat Slytherin? Hufflepuff?”

Evan feels like he’s going to throw up. Connor stares him right in the eye and waits for him to respond, for him to pedal back and correct himself. Evan takes a deep breath and says, “Yes.” He doesn't know what he expects, maybe an eye roll or a crude remark, but what he gets is a smile.

“Alright,” Connor says. “Maybe they will.”

They walk in silence the rest of the way to the castle, but the entire time, Connor is still smiling.

*

Things get a little weird, after that cloudy afternoon walking back from the Quidditch Pitch.

Okay, maybe a ‘little’ weird is a bit of an understatement. Or an overstatement. Evan isn’t really too sure how to understand the situation at hand.

The thing is, he thinks Connor Murphy might be his friend.

It starts like this: he’s in the library with Alana and Jared, and they’re arguing over something stupid. Evan has corrected the both of them four times now, but they keep talking over him, and he can’t just raise his voice and say what he wants to. If he yells in the library, he’ll be kicked out, and then every time he goes back in the library the librarian will glare at him from under her tiny spectacles and Evan will have to live out the last two remaining years at Hogwarts feeling the heat of her scrutinizing gaze.

He just can’t live like that.

So he reads an old Greek mythology book while they argue in harsh whispers, only looking up when Alana stomps her foot in frustration and causes all the books floating down from their respective shelves to drop simultaneously. It is a very loud noise. People turn their heads and watch Evan as he’s led to Alana’s classroom, and it makes his heart leap up into his throat. Every stare paralyzes him, makes his head swim and pulse with an oncoming headache. 

“Damn it! I forgot I need to talk to my Potions partner about our presentation today.” She bends down and picks up all the books, and Evan rushes to help her, stacking them all up on the table in a huge tower. Alana looks at the clock and then looks back at Evan. “Can you help me carry these to my room?”

“But Jared’s a Ravenclaw-”

“Come on, Evan! It’s not like you’re banned from the Ravenclaw room! It’ll only take five minutes, I swear,” she begs. Evan knows it will take longer than five minutes to just to get out of the library, but he says okay anyways and grabs half of the stack of books. 

He knows something is weird when they turn in the wrong direction when heading to the Ravenclaw tower. Evan’s arms are aching. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t correct Alana, either, because maybe she’s going to show him a shortcut that he doesn’t know about, and if he brings up that they’re going the wrong way, she’ll just think he’s an idiot.

“We’re going to stop by my potions class, first,” Alana explains as if sensing Evan’s brain going into overdrive over having to decide whether to bring up the direction change or not. “I just need to talk to my partner for a minute.” Evan relaxes as much as he can with the heavy stack of books in his arms.

They’re in the classroom before Evan really realizes it. He sees the rough edges of the brick walls, the glare of the sun against glass beakers filled with bubbling potions. Two boys snicker as they mix something that puffs up a nasty smelling smoke. Amidst stacked textbooks and a rack of colorful concoctions sits Connor, alone at a desk meant for two, furiously scribbling in random answers on what Evan assumes was last night's homework. Alana sets her books down and gestures for Evan to do the same, and then leans over and taps her nails against the oak of the table, a click that echoes along the scratch of the quill against the paper. Connor doesn’t look up, and Evan steps closer to Alana’s side, like a small child peeking behind their mother’s legs.

“I thought we agreed to meet here during our study,” Connor snaps. He dips the quill in ink and continues writing. Evan sneaks a peek and frowns at the barely legible letters that crookedly run across his unlined notebook. He misspells a word and curses as he scratches it out and continues.

“I’m sorry, I was busy picking up the reference books that you returned a week too early,” Alana says.

Connor frowns. “That was an accident.”

“Accident or not, it cost us time. Did you bring the potion?” Connor holds up a pink glowing liquid in a small vial in response, and Alana plucks it from his hand and smiles. “Very nice work, Murphy.”

“Not as dumb as you thought, huh?” The look on Connor’s face is something close to a teasing grin, but not quite. 

Alana laughs. “Definitely not.”

“I see you have a shadow,” Connor says. He looks at Evan, and Alana does too.

“This is Evan,” she says.

Connor stares at him. “I know.” Alana nudges Evan with her hip, and he steps out from where he was slightly behind her.

It's a mistake.

At that moment, the two snickering boys from earlier pour their two mixtures together. Evan is the only one who sees it, watches with wide eyes as a deep purple meets a sickening yellow that radiates an orange glow, forming a dark green that hardens, solidifies, and then melts all over again. He watches as one of the boys, short and chubby with blond hair that flops over his eyes, hurls it back and launches it into the air.

In that same time frame, that same second, Alana steps away, bending down to pick up a book to add some last minute notes for their presentation. She does not see the potion that is on its way to hurling itself in her direction. She does not notice how Evan locks himself in place out of fear and shock.

Connor gets up from his chair, wood scratching against wood, mumbling something about getting his notebook that’s back in his room and being back in a second. He turns his head and grabs his bag and almost misses the glass vial that flies past his shoulder, skimming past Alana.

It comes for Evan, and he closes his eyes and prays it won't burn his face off as he waits for the hit.

And waits.

And he feels nothing.

(Briefly, he wonders if whatever was in that vial killed him. He worries for the mess he made and hopes Alana isn't too scarred by his what might be a violent death.)

When he opens his eyes, the glass vial levitates in front of his nose. He breathes in a shaky breath and the glass brushes against his nose. Alana gasps and turns to look at the two boys who stare at them, amusement slipping into awe slipping into fear. There's the crash of a chair hitting the floor, and Evan watches them book it, pushing and shoving past each other to leave the room, their laughs echoing down the halls. Connor stands before him, wand out and extended, pointed at the vial. He takes a deep breath, and the glass slowly bobs up and down in the air with him. Connor turns back to look at Evan and orders him: “Step back, Hansen.”

Evan complies. Connor sighs and drops his wand, and the vial drops with it, the dark green substance landing as a solid on the ground and slowly melting into a liquid, seeping through the cracks of the wood floor until it's completely gone.

“That was,” Alana starts, but she doesn't finish her sentence. She stares at Connor and then looks at Evan, and then down at the floor at the broken vial. She steps back. “I'm going to find them and report them,” she decides. She turns to Evan and tells him, “Stay right here, okay?”

Evan doesn't have a chance to respond before Alana charms herself to be faster, and sprints out of the room in a blur.

“Keep holding your breath like that and you might just pass out,” Connor mumbles. Evan looks at him with wide eyes. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath. He takes a big gulp of air and tastes charcoal, probably the smell of the potion that was flung at him moments before, and slowly exhales. Every movement hurts, muscles still tense and in high alert. Every breath is supposed to calm him down, but it only makes him more worked up, the air feeling like razor blades scratching down his throat. 

When he finally speaks, it's in words so soft he has to repeat himself three more times to be heard. “Thank you.”

Connor has gone back to writing whatever report he was working on previously. He looks up and dips his quill in ink again and says, “Whatever.”

Evan wants to show that he really is grateful, but any words he can think off get jumbled around in his head, and by the time he thinks his throat is clear enough to allow him to speak, it's too late. The moment is gone. If he were to say anything now, Connor would think he is weird for trying to start a conversation when it clearly died out. So Evan just bends down and picks up the broken shards of glass, holding them carefully in his cupped palm. When he stands up again, Connor is watching him. It makes his heart skyrocket, makes him have to remember the glass on his palm so he doesn't clench his fists and cut himself.

These are the times when Evan wishes more than anything for something more. He wants too much, too much to be healthy, too much to remain selfless and good. He wants therapy, and the kind of medication he sees on blogs on the Internet that teens like him have, the kinds that they say make them start to feel normal again. Not their normal, the _right_ normal, the normal that allows you to speak in full, long sentences without gasping for air, the normal that would finally allow him to breathe without the crippling fear of being judged for even opening his mouth crumple him.

He doesn't have that. He doesn't have a therapist to dissect the root of his anxiety and he doesn't have medication that will help him move past it and he doesn't have the bravery to say something about it. What he has is something he'd give away in an instant; the wand, the magic, and the school full of students who push him aside like the nothing he is. All he has is himself, a mouse named Squid, and a bunch of useless magic.

“You’re in my Herbology class, right?”

“Oh! Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Cool,” Connor says. “Really cool.”

Evan swallows and mumbles, “Yeah.” It’s quiet for a minute, and Evan kicks the tiny shards of glass with the toe of his sneaker when Connor clears his throat again.

“Hey, um, do you have your notes from class yesterday? I was sick so I missed the lesson,” he says.

“Yes! Yes, I have the notes. Did you throw up? A-Are you still sick?” Words fumble out of Evan’s mouth with no sign of stopping. This is weird. He shouldn’t be this nervous. Why is he this nervous? 

“No, I’m fine,” Connor laughs. It’s one of those laughs that doesn’t sound like one, like a laugh in disguise. It’s a harsh breath with a hint of an awkward smile, and Evan watches it all happen in real time.

“Oh, good! That’s great because we’re actually doing this cool research project where you take the roots of-” he stops himself when he catches Connor staring at him with a shocked smile, and Evan realizes how stupid he must sound. That’s the only reason why Connor is smiling; to laugh at him. “Nevermind, it’s dumb. I can give you the notes tomorrow, or Thursday, or whenever you need.”

“Tomorrow,” Connor chooses. He picks at cuticles of his nails; peels back chipped nail polish that looks weeks old. “Before dinner, we can meet in the East Courtyard. You can give me the notes I missed, or I can copy them. Whatever you want."

“Oh, alright, yeah! Whatever works for you, just know I'm almost always free- not because I have nothing to do because I do homework and- um, stuff,” Evan babbles. He cringes, and he waits for Connor to do the same. All he does is stare at him dead in the eye.

“Be careful, though,” Connor warns. “Sometimes the rose bushes reach out and drag students in. It's a rather unpleasant sight, really, all the blood and everything.” He scrunches his nose, and Evan can't help but notice the little wrinkles that fold over his nose, skin scrunched up in disgust.

“Good to know…”

Connor doesn't say anything, and Evan stands there, waiting for a signal to leave or stay. He should wait for Alana, he promised he'd wait for Alana, but the room is too quiet and the atmosphere surrounding him is too tense, and Evan thinks he’s just going to skip Architectural Magic and hide out in his room. He can make up the work tomorrow.

Evan leaves a note apologizing for leaving and saying he brought the stack of books to his room and she can come and get them whenever she wants and he’ll carry them back for her, and then he picks up the books and turns to leave. He keeps his gaze on the floor and shuffles past the few students that walk into the classroom early. When he's at the door, Connor looks up and calls to him.

“Tomorrow,” he confirms. He's still hunched over and still staring Evan dead in the eye in a way that makes it seem like he doesn't really care, but then Evan sees his hand, the one holding the quill, lax grip now tightened, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. Evan briefly realizes that Connor might be nervous.

Evan looks up and meets his eye. “Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Tomorrow.”

*

The rose bushes reach for him twice.

The first time, Evan feels thorns wrap around his ankle and almost drops the books in his hands when it tugs. He doesn't actually drop them, just fumbles a little, and for that he is grateful.

The second time the rose bush reaches for him, he already has his wand out and ready. He spells a small fire in the grass and watches as the vine of the bush retreats. Then, he steps further away again and sits down on the grass.

His ankle is bleeding a little bit, the thorns having punctured small cuts around his ankle in a circle. He pulls his pant leg up and grazes his wand against his skin with a mumble of _Episkey_. He watches his skin mend itself together again, new skin soft and pink and sensitive. When he looks up from his ankle, Connor is standing in front of him, looking, for once, a little interested.

“Do you always attract trouble? Or is that just a little quirk that happens near me?”

Evan laughs nervously, and Connor sits down across from him, pulling his messenger bag into his lap and taking out a notebook and fountain pen. Evan pulls out his own notebook and talks Connor through the notes. He stutters and sometimes has to pause to gather his thoughts, but Connor waits patiently and continues off from where they left off. It’s a good feeling when Connor doesn’t say anything about Evan’s nervous tics, doesn’t stare at how he scratches and pulls at the hem of his pants or doesn’t pay any mind to how Evan rips up grass until there’s a bald patch on the field. He just writes his notes, and that’s all.

When they’re done, there are five minutes left until dinner, and Evan’s stomach is growling. He didn’t eat anything all day because he didn’t think he could stomach it. He was too nervous of somehow messing this up. 

“Thanks for the notes,” Connor says. He stands up and Evan does too, and they start walking back to the school. It’s like it was a few weeks ago at the Quidditch pitch, Evan rushing to keep up, his shorter steps fast in order to stay in time with Connor’s long strides. 

“It’s no problem, really,” Evan says.

Connor stops. “No, really. I don’t think anyone else would offer me their notes. The rest of this school hates me.”

Evan hesitates. “No, I don’t think-”

“They do,” Connor deadpans. “I know they do.”

Evan doesn’t know what to say. Like, he really has nothing to say. He’s so used to words and sentences fighting their way out of his mouth but his entire brain is silent, dead, waiting. He opens his mouth, and no words come out. In the distance, Evan hears the loud series of sounds that only come from all the students heading to dinner. Connor looks at the castle and looks back at Evan and shakes his head.

“I-”

“Come to my room,” Evan blurts.

Connor frowns and steps back. “Um, what?”

Evan’s heart picks up speed rapidly. He hates being put on the spot, he hates talking, he hates how he freaks out. “I-I mean, the test. We have a test! Thursday, in Herbology, about the stuff I gave you notes on. We can skip dinner, and I have snacks in my room- they’re not allowed, but I do- and we can just study in there, if you want.” Connor still looks at him weirdly, so Evan backtracks and adds, “O-Or we can just stay out here! I don't mind, I just don't wanna leave you alone-”

“Hansen.”

“Unless you want to be alone! Which is perfectly cool! I don't even know why I asked, so you know what I'll just go-”

“ _Hansen_ ”

“-we can totally forget this conversation ever happened, and I’ll see you in class tomorrow, so-”

“ _Evan_.”

Evan stops, closes his eyes, and waits for the punch; he doesn't know why he expects the punch, but he does. Probably because if he were someone else, he would punch himself in the face for the amount of stupid word vomit that just left his mouth.

“Yes?” His voice comes out all squeaky and weak. It makes him wince.

“Just- take me to your room,” Connor says. Evan looks at him and waits for him to laugh, or show that he's joking. Nothing happens and Connor slaps his hand against his forehead. “Well? Did you forget the way to your fucking room? Are we gonna go or not? Hello!?”

“Yes! I mean, no, I didn't forget the way to my room. Yes, we are going to go there,” Evan says. He still hasn't moved. 

“Okay, Evan, just take your fucking time.”

Evan jumps and starts walking, leading the way. Behind him, Connor chokes a little, and when Evan looks back, he sees how his lips are pressed together and his cheeks are flushed a little and when he raises his hand to wipe his nose and laughs a little into his hand. 

Normally, Evan would feel his stomach plummet to his feet and cringe at the itch of bile creeping its way up his throat, but somehow, this does the opposite. It makes his chest feel a little lighter and it's a little harder to breathe. His vision goes a little blurry and he blinks a lot to clear it, and almost runs into the door because he's too busy watching Connor.

He snaps to attention when some kid that passes by calls him an airhead and only focuses on the path in front of him, not at the boy trailing behind him. Weirdly, Evan likes watching Connor smile. He's too used to seeing him glare and snarl at everything, and part of him wants to keep watching him, but then he figures that there's really no point; the image of Connor smiling is gonna be burned into his mind for a while.

*

Walking into the empty Gryffindor common room is a little odd.

Walking into the empty Gryffindor common room with a Slytherin is a little odder.

Connor doesn't really say anything about the room except that it's much warmer than the Slytherin’s. He lounges on a couch and freaks out a little when he sinks so far into the cushion he almost disappears. 

“Everything Slytherin is hard and uncomfortable,” he explains when Evan can't hold back the laugh. “You Gryffindors are too… soft.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Evan snorts.

Connor thinks and then smiles a little. “Not always.”

(At that, Evan’s heart skyrockets and it feels like it's about to break his ribs and things feel a little lighter around him.)

When they do make it up to Evan’s room, it's about halfway through dinner. Evan wanted Connor out before it ended, just to save him from the stares of all the Gryffindors that laze around with full stomachs, but then Evan remembers that not everyone is like him. Connor doesn't seem like he would care. He’s too above it all.

“I live alone,” Evan explains as he opens the door. “My roommates- well, the headmaster thought it’d be best if I remained by myself, for the rest of my education.” His room is in the corner of the tower, up five flights of stairs and with a window that juts out and gives him a good view of the grounds. Now, when he peers through the foggy glass, he can see the illuminated windows of the dining hall. His mouth waters at the thought of food, and he turns around and pulls out an old trunk out from under his bed. “I have some snacks stored here- they’re mostly Muggle food, so sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Connor watches from where he stands in the center of the room. He has taken off his cloak and stands in the middle of the room in dress pants and a wrinkled white collared shirt. Somehow, even with Hogwart’s rigorous dress code, he still looks disheveled and messy. Evan pulls out pretzels and potato chips and even a small jar full of chocolates and caramels and sets them all on the floor. On his dresser, Squid runs around frantically, and Evan looks up sheepishly.

“Do you mind if I take her out of her cage? She just wants to run around the room for a while,” he says.

Connor shrugs. “It’s your room. You do whatever you want.”

That doesn’t really help. Evan feels a spike of panic arise and he suppresses it with a smile and points to the ground across from him and tells Connor he can have whatever he wants. He lays his robe on the floor and quickly pulls a jumper on over his head because it’s a little cold in his room, with winter setting in and everything. He grabs the matches from his bottom dresser drawer and grabs a log for the fireplace, and lights a fire starter before tossing it in next to the log with a prayer that it catches and saves him the embarrassment of having to explain he’s rather terrible at starting fires. He gets up and walks over to Squid’s cage last. She scratches at the wire bars until she can crawl into his hand. Evan sits back down and sits her on his knee.

“This is Squid. She’s a mouse,” he says.

“You have a mouse that you named Squid?” Connor asks. Evan feels his face flush red with embarrassment, and he runs his finger along Squid’s back for some sense of comfort.

“Yeah, it’s a stupid story.”

Connor opens the bag of pretzels and picks one up, licking it before eating it. Evan realizes that this might be the first time Connor has ever even had Muggle food, and suddenly, he’s self-conscious of what he has. They aren’t exactly name-brand stuff that some Mudbloods bring to Hogwarts to sell to the purebloods, just store-brand copies that aren’t as good. Still, Connor seems to dig the pretzels. He doesn’t really touch anything else.

“We have time,” Connor says. “Tell me.”

Evan gulps. He opens a bag of potato chips and lets Squid nibble on one of them. He wasn’t lying when he said the story is stupid. It would be a waste of time to talk about, especially when they should be studying. But then Evan finds himself thinking of his story, piecing it together in his head and already planning out what he’s going to say, and his mind has already been made up.

Evan opens his mouth and he lets the words flow.

*

The story is not important. Evan realizes that halfway through it, when he has to stop because he’s trying not to laugh and Squid is going crazy, crawling over his legs and even up his arms to nibble at his cheek. Connor knowing about Evan’s mouse’s name is not the point.

The point is that when Evan speaks, something in his chest loosens. It’s subtle, like the click of a door unlocking in the middle of the night, but it’s there, and before Evan realizes it, he’s breathless and Connor is laughing, mouth full of half-eaten pretzels and it should be gross but it _isn’t_. It makes his head spin and makes Evan feel so giddy he’s lightheaded, and when he’s done talking, he’s out of breath. It isn’t because of his anxiety choking him. It isn’t because he’s so nervous he can’t catch his breath. It’s because his words have tired him out so much that he’s exhausted, and it’s in a good way.

The ability to speak without feeling like someone is covering his mouth and forcing his words back down his throat is so new Evan can’t explain it. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s in his room, or maybe it’s because he has Squid in his hands and now she’s sleeping in his palm, but these moments are rare and far between, a random spark that lights itself and burns bright. Evan thinks Connor recognizes it or senses something different because he just listens. He goes from sitting rigidly to laying on Evan’s floor and popping pretzels into his mouth, and when the pretzel bag is empty, Evan drops a handful of chips into his palm. 

Maybe he’s tired or maybe this is a dream, but Evan doesn’t think he’s been this comfortable with someone in a long time. His eyes are heavy and drooping and it’s really dark outside. When Evan lays down, he crumples the chip bag and doesn’t bother to roll over. He just stares out the window and swallows saliva to wet his dry throat.

“It’s really fucking dark out, isn’t it,” Connor observes.

“Yeah,” Evan replies. He’s so tired. It seems to take all his energy just to turn and look at Connor.

“I should be going,” Connor says, but he doesn’t make any movements to actually get up. Evan frowns and sits up.

“Are you alright?”

“What? Yeah.” Connor gets up and brushes crumbs off of his shirt and pants. Squid stirs and jumps to eat them, and Evan is too slow to stop her. Connor doesn’t look like he cares. “It’s late, and I overstayed my visit and I… ate all your damn food.”

“What? No, it’s okay, it’s fine.” Evan rushes to his feet after Connor stands up. “It’s okay, really.”

Connor doesn’t say anything, and Evan walks him to the door and waits for him to put on his cloak. It’s a little awkward, mostly because Connor isn’t really looking at Evan and it’s making him freak out a little, thoughts and replays of the night going through his mind. Did he do something wrong? Self-doubt creeps in like the cold and Evan is chilled down to the bone as he waits for something, anything.

Connor walks out the door and says nothing, and Evan goes rigid.

“Um, bye!” He waves out the doorway and slams the door shut. God, he fucked up so bad. Why else would Connor just leave like that? 

Squid scampers across his foot, and Evan reaches down and scoops her up, He holds her against his cheek and closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then, he sets her down again.

“C’mon, girl, we gotta clean this up,” he says softly. He gathers up chip bags and pretzel bags and Squid eats the crumbs off the floor, and when all the bags are crinkling in his arms and he’s walking to the waste bin, someone knocks on the door. 

It must be Alana. She still hasn’t come for the books.

When he opens the door, it’s Connor.

“Oh! I… thought you left,” Evan says. 

“I did, yeah,” Connor says. “But now I’m back.”

“Oh.” Evan frowns. He’s confused. “Cool?” Connor nods and Evan opens the door a little wider. “Do you… do you wanna come in again?”

“No! No, I wanted to ask you something,” Connor blurts out. Evan nods and waits. “Well, we were gonna study, but we didn’t, so I was wondering if you actually wanna study sometime. Just studying, you know? I won’t distract you or anything like I did today.” Evan’s breath gets caught in his mouth, and he coughs a little to clear his throat. He smiles.

“Yeah! I mean, you didn’t distract me today, I swear, most of it was-.” He cuts himself off before he starts babbling again, and just smiles a little extra wide and hopes that’s enough. It is. Connor nods and looks back at the hallway that leads to the spiraling staircase and steps back.

“Alright! Cool. I’ll, um, I’ll see you in Herbology tomorrow.”

“And Care for Magical Creatures,” Evan adds.

“Yes, and that too,” Connor mumbles. “Alright, sorry for keeping you up late. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” Evan laughs. He peeks out the door frame while Connor walks down the stairs and hops down the stairs, and sends a little prayer out that is there is anyone remaining in the common room that they don’t mess with Connor too much.

He finishes cleaning and puts on his pajamas, and if he sits on the window seat by the window and watches Connor walk across the field to the Slytherin tower, it’s only by coincidence, and nothing more.

*

A lot of things happen, after that night.

Some girl passes out in Potions after having to harvest the left kidney of a toad for a potion recipe, Evan has to cut his hair after getting gum stuck in it, and every Wednesday he meets Connor in the library to review the material they learned that week in Care for Magical Creatures and Herbology. He doesn’t mention the bad haircut, uneven on the left side and cut too close to his head, and that’s it. The rowdiness of other students makes sense, though. It’s nearing Christmas break, and the cold air is always filled with an excited buzz, every student ready to take off from school and head home. Evan isn't an exception.

Evan has borrowed Jared’s owl and has sent out three letters reminding his mother of the dates that he has off and a list of things he thinks might be fun to do. They don’t celebrate Christmas, but he’s happy to make a list of everything he wants to do with her anyway. On the top of that list is to finally get his cast removed. By the time he get’s back home, his bone will be completely healed. Of course, he wants to visit the forest reserve three towns over, too. He loves it there, and typically spends the entire day just hiking the different trails and trying to remember stupid survival tactics he picked up from his very few years being a cub-scout. He wants to rearrange his room, sleep in his bed, eat in his own kitchen at his small table with cruddy silverware that never seems to wash right. He wants the feeling of paper towels rather than silk napkins, the flick of a light switch that he rarely gets to feel in the castle. 

He craves the simplicity of a normal life, has a hunger for it that he can’t begin to explain.

But there are good things that happen, too. They light up Evan’s week like the morning sun through his window, each ray making his heart blossom in his chest, and they hold him over until he knows he can go home. Jared’s parents buy him a book all about Muggle gardens that they picked up in an old vintage shop. Alana gets the best score on a test in one of her classes and bakes cookies for everyone in a fit of happiness that sticks around for a whole week and a half. Evan answers three questions in class without stuttering once. Each day brings a small joy and yes, maybe some of the joyous moments are really small and barely there, but they still happen, and it makes everything a little easier. Things are going to be great, and he knows it. The thought of break distracts him, infatuates his mind and makes it so he can barely focus on anything else. He doesn’t really focus that much during his study sessions with Connor, and he zones out during heated conversations with Alana and Jared. He doesn’t hear when Jared tells Evan that he’s invited to his family’s Christmas dinner.

“Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t wanna go, though. My mom’s casserole is shit, and not the good kind of shit. It’s literally garbage,” he says. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. 

“I’m gonna be with my mom all of break,” Evan says with a smile.

“Your mom can come too, you know,” Jared adds. “She’d probably be better company.” Evan flushes from embarrassment and hikes his shoulders up to hide the way his ears go red. He smiles, though, and Jared bumps his shoulder into his own. Evan knows the next two weeks are going to go smoothly.

And then he gets the letter, four days before he is going to leave.

He wants to rip it. He almost does, he grips it with knuckles so white they blend into the snow that falls through the open gaps in the stone of the Owlery and thinks of tearing it and tossing it, but then he doesn’t. It sinks in, a heavy weight that he swallows all the way down to his stomach, and he realizes that there is nothing he can do. Evan can kick and scream all he wants but it won’t do anything. Nothing will ever fix it. He folds up the letter and stuffs it in his pocket and brushes his hands against Jared’s owl, frozen fingers getting pulled in by the owl’s heavy feather coat. She coos and cocks her head, gentle and soft, and Evan smiles. He feels a tear streak down his cheek.

Weird. He didn’t even realize he was crying.

*

In the end, it was Jared’s idea.

Evan can’t stay with Jared because he’s already hosting about ten other people that are all extended family- as explained in the letter he received two days after Evan asked- and Alana’s parents don’t really know Evan that well, so he didn’t even expect a yes. They sit in Evan’s room, wondering, thinking. It’s best when your two friends are Ravenclaws. They are quick to come up with solutions, and Evan expects his issue of having no one to stay with for one week of his Christmas break will be solved by the time the hour is done.

As they walk to dinner, they still haven’t figured it out.

“Your mom’s working, you said?”

“They’re transferring her to a hospital that’s three cities away for the holiday season. Apparently, they get a lot of emergency situations and they’re pulling people from everywhere to go assist to help with… hospital… stuff,” Evan mumbles.

“And you can’t just stay home alone?” Alana asks. Evan shakes his head no. He told them before, about how his mom really didn’t want him to be home alone. His summer therapist agreed, especially after what had happened. His friends, of course, did not know why. He preferred it that way.

“I say go home anyway and throw a party. Who cares who comes, you can spend the whole night hammered talking to yourself,” Jared says. Evan shudders. The idea of his house being full of strangers, all of them drunk, really made him uncomfortable.

“No,” Alana scolds. “Evan, there has to be someone, _anyone_ who you can ask. Maybe your partner for that project in Care for Magical Creatures a few weeks ago. What was her name? Angelica? How about her?”

“She’s a girl, and her parents don't know me,” Evan says. “It’s the same situation with you, Alana. They aren’t going to invite a random boy into their home for five days.”

It clicks for Jared the same time it clicks for Evan. They are about to split off to go to their respective tables with promises of meeting up after dinner to figure it out when there’s a tap on Evan’s shoulder. He turns around, and it’s Connor. His messenger bag is slung over his shoulder and he is panting.

“Oh no,” Evan says at the same time Connor asks, “Where were you?”

Jared looks between the two of them, and Evan can see the cogs turning in his head.

Connor is angry. His face is scrunched up, teeth bared like a wild animal, and when he opens his mouth, Evan wants to cower behind Alana. “I’ve been waiting in the library,” he hisses. No, not angry, it’s deeper than that. Paranoid. He looks at Evan like he doesn’t know who he is and Evan takes a step back.

“I’m so sorry. I forgot it was Wednesday” Evan promises. Connor looks at him for a minute and then turns to Jared and Alana. They stare back with wide eyes. Thinking. Contemplating. Out of the corner of his eye, Jared grins. “I’ve had a really bad day and- and I’ve been so busy trying to figure something out and it slipped my mind and I am so sorry-”

“It’s okay,” Connor says suddenly. He looks better, calmer. “I flipped out, my bad.”

“No, I’m sorry for forgetting, especially with that quiz tomorrow, I can’t believe I just forgot-”

“Evan,” Connor interrupts, “it’s fine, really.” He walks away quickly, and when Jared calls out for him to hold up, he flips him off over his shoulder. Evan winces.

“He’s just, um, angry? And cranky, like, a lot of the time? I’m sure he didn’t mean that,” he explains. 

Jared rolls his eyes. “He sure seemed patient with you.”

“Probably because I’m helping him get his grades up,” Evan suggests. He doesn’t know if that’s true. When they study, Connor seems to catch up quick. The only thing that holds him back is his tendency to skip class altogether. 

“Interesting,” Jared says. “Very interesting.” He looks at Alana, who watched him with a cautious eyes and crosses her arms. “What?”

“You're scheming,” Alana accuses. She narrows her eyes and jabs her finger into his arm. “Why are you scheming?”

“Hey! I'm not scheming!” Jared exclaims. “I'm just thinking that maybe-”

“Excuse me gentlemen and… lady, but it is time for you all to go to your respective tables.” There's a professor behind Evan, one he doesn't even bother to look at. He can tell by the tone of her voice, more mature and authoritative. He jumps a little and lets apologies spill from his mouth while he turns to leave. Jared calls over his shoulder and tells him to go to the library after, and Evan nods in acknowledgment and hopes Jared saw.

Throughout dinner, he’s jittery. He doesn't know why. He wants to blame the fact that he’s most likely going to have to stay at Hogwarts for winter break, but that isn't it. Thinking that makes him sad and terrible, not guilty and like he might throw up. 

It occurs to him halfway through the meal that the cause of this horrible feeling is most likely Connor. Thinking Connor is mad at him makes Evan’s stomach lurch, and once he realizes it, he stops eating. He can't stomach anything anymore, no matter how much he really craves a brownie or cookie when he catches sight of them across the table. He looks at the Slytherin table, all the way across the room, and tries to find Connor.

It's difficult. Now that it's winter, most of the room is just a crowd of students in dark robes, some with their knitted caps still atop their heads. Connor wasn't wearing a beanie, though, so he scans the length of the Slytherin table in hopes of seeing his hair, or catch a glimpse of flipping some kid off. He stops after ten minutes of searching because his eyes start to hurt a little from the strain, and spends the rest of dinner looking down at his half full plate knowing that until this icky feeling goes away, he won't be able to even eat it.

*

“You should just ask him.”

“No. Absolutely not. I will never, _never_ -”

“Evan!” Jared grabs him by the shoulder and forces him to look at him. “It’s just five nights! You know him, he seems to tolerate you, lord knows why. Plus, Connor’s rich and probably lives in one of those huge old manors. You probably won’t even _see_ him half the time.”

“I don’t care!” Evan whines. “I’m not going to ask him and I’ve already told my mom I’m staying here for the first week, then coming to your house for dinner. Then, I’ll go home.”

“How are you going to leave the castle?” Alana asks.

“The Floo Network,” both Evan and Jared say at the same time. 

“My mom asked the Ministry if her house can be connected a year back in case something happened while she was at work. She wanted it to be easy for me to get to Jared’s house,” Evan explains. “I’ll use Floo powder to get to Jared’s from the school, and from there I’ll go home. Jared will have to take Squid to his house, though. My fireplace is too small for me to fit her cage in with me.”

“He thought of it this morning,” Jared says. “I think it’s a pretty smart idea.” He wrinkles his nose. “Although I'm not keen on the idea of having to care for a rat.”

“It’s a smart plan,” Alana starts, “but are you sure you’re going to be alright alone for five days?”

“Most of the people who bother me are leaving,” Evan says. “I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up on some readings I have to do for class.”

That night, Evan takes out a bunch of library books and piles them on top of the end of his bed. Jared comes later to drop off a small pouch with Floo Powder and a note with his address written hastily on it. Evan reminds himself to rewrite it neater when Jared leaves.

He can’t lie and say he isn’t upset about having to stay at school for part of his Christmas break, but he isn’t completely destroyed over it. He’ll still get to see his mom and they’ll still do all of the things they planned, he just won’t have as much time with her as he wishes. But it’s okay because at least he’ll have good food here. That, at least, is some kind of comfort.

*

Evan wakes up early Saturday morning to see Jared and Alana off. They each over a luggage piece, Jared’s significantly larger than Alana’s because after all these years, he still doesn’t do his laundry very well, spells or no spells. Evan walks them to the front gates and they each hug him goodbye before they leave for the station. Jared reluctantly takes Squid and her cage, promising to take good care of her until Evan can Floo back home with her. They’re rather early to the gates, still having a little under an hour before the train actually leaves, but they all know that in order to get a good cart, you have to arrive early. Still, Evan just feels worse when he watches a few kids hop on the train, so he turns back to walk back to the castle. Maybe he can read in the library for a few hours, and then take a nap after that. He’s halfway to the castle when he sees Connor. Or maybe Connor sees him. He isn’t sure.

“Forget something?” Connor asks. 

“No, I’m not- um, I’m not going home right now,” Evan laughs. “Listen, I’m still really sorry about forgetting to study with you, so after break, if you wanna leave class early or something I’ll totally take notes for you-”

“Why not?” Connor asks.

“Why am I not going home? Oh, well, my mom works at a Muggle hospital in our town, and you know, in some cities the hospitals get more crowded than others, so they have to pull out workers and she was one of them. It’s just for five days, though, so I’ll be fine.” Evan rubs the back of his neck and sighs. Connor worries at his lip and doesn’t meet Evan’s eye, and Evan briefly worries if he said something wrong. He keeps talking as if that will make it better. “But anyway, about the studying thing. I’m really, really sorry and I don’t know how to make it up to you-”

“Come over,” Connor says suddenly.

“What?”

Connor looks surprised he even spoke, and he looks anywhere but Evan, eyes flitting over to gates of the school. “You can just stay at my place until you need to go. You won’t be alone. I mean, Zoe’s gonna be home, obviously, and she likes you well enough-”

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

“Although my parents are really fucking annoying, they try, I guess. If you would rather stay here, though, I understand. I kinda wouldn't mind staying here, but I have to go home.”

“Um- uh…” Evan keeps babbling. He can’t even form words. Zoe likes him. Zoe and Connor have _talked about him_. He knows he doesn't have a crush on her, but this is unrelated to any feelings at all. The feeling of being liked and wanted by someone so unfathomable it makes his heart speed up, and when Connor steps a little closer to get out of a crowd of students’ way, it beats even faster. His hands are sweaty and he keeps pulling at the loose strands at the end of his scarf.

“Well?” Connor asks.

“Yes,” Evan answers before he even thinks about it. “I mean, yeah, cool, totally rad… dude.” 

Connor knits his eyebrows together and gives a little breath of laughter. “Okay… I’ll wait here for you to get your shit together. You have-” He glances at the watch he has on his wrist. “-About twenty minutes.”

Evan swallows any words that threaten to escape his mouth, He doesn’t have time to stammer and make a fool of himself. He just walks swiftly back to the Gryffindor tower, pushing past the kids who are leaving with heavy suitcases and pets on their shoulder or flying ahead of them. 

He doesn't know what he’s doing. He doesn't know _why_ he’s doing this.

He packs one suitcase. He throws clothes in, not really paying attention, and puts all his hygienics in a separate bag. He will only be there for five days, and he has a lot of clothes still at home, so he packs only what he deems is his nicest clothes. When he’s done, they leave.

“Are you sure your parents will be okay with this?” Evan asks before they walk out the front gates. He feels weird, but he isn’t quite sure why. His entire body is freaking out, but his brain is calm, steady. It’s an otherworldly feeling, and for some strange reason, he loves it. 

“Yeah,” Connor says. “They’ve always wanted me to bring a friend home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adskfjsdf i feel like this is terrible but anyways the message of this is self-growth kinda?? . i thought in the actual musical, Evan accepting himself and who he is and recognizing that he is enough is so so brave. I put him in Gryffindor because of that. I could also see him be a Hufflepuff too, though.
> 
> Second and final part to come in three days.


	2. the in-between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smells trees, but richer, heavier; he smells snow, the chill that makes every breath burn his nose; he smells the library, the sharpness of old paper, the distinct scent of vanilla that comes from the books near the place where he and Connor study.
> 
> The last one makes his stomach drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall wanted some tunes? no? here, [take them anyway](https://soundcloud.com/user-225515429/sets/ff-the-ambiguous-case) (*cough cough* its a playlist *cough cough*)
> 
> trigger warnings for this chapter: self-hard scar mention and description, panic attack, and talking and discussing anxiety? Please note descriptions of the panic attacks are based on my personal experiences and I'm not trying to be dramatic or anything. I just wrote about how mine usually happen.
> 
> Enjoy!

Jared was right. Their house is huge. It looks like an old manor, like something straight out of a horror movie except it's pretty, with window boxes hanging almost every window, vines climbing up the brick. A lot of the windows are stained glass. Evan can only imagine how beautiful it is inside.

Evan looks at it from the taxi window and doesn’t even realize he has to get out until Zoe taps him on the shoulder and motions to the door handle. She was pretty chill with learning that Evan was coming over. When Connor led him to the taxi waiting outside the train station, all she did was look him over, look at Connor, and shrugged. Evan guessed that was as good as a hello than he could hope for. 

Honestly, though, it was a little odd. Evan doesn’t like talking about someone else’s home situation because he knows that is definitely none of his business and it isn’t his place to pry, but he can’t deny that the relationship between Zoe and Connor is almost…nonexistent. They clearly know each other, yet they behave like strangers sometimes. Evan supposes this might be an improvement; in his third and fourth year, Connor would scream at her, and she would fight back. She could be really mean, for a Hufflepuff. But then his fifth year rolled around, and they were somewhat civil. Cautious, but civil. He thinks Zoe tries a little harder than Connor, based on what he heard in the taxi. Connor sat up front, and Zoe sat right behind him, giving Evan a good view of both of them. They talked about school, and Zoe asked what their mom was making for dinner only for Connor shrugged and that was it. Then Zoe turned to him and talked about her Quidditch training for a little while, and then leaned her head against the window and fell asleep.

Connor didn’t really talk to him.

When Evan does get out of the car, Connor thrusts his suitcase into his hands. Zoe walks on ahead because she brought no bags, and Connor slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and then goes to the driver to give him a tip. They must be a wizard because he drops a few Sickles in his hand. He walks over to Evan with his hands in his pockets. He must have taken off his robe at some point on the train, and is dressed rather nicely, which is understandable, given the house he lives in and how his parents most likely are. Evan looks down at himself. He’s wearing his school clothes, ones that he got at a discount store this summer; definitely not good clothes to make a positive first impression. A flower of shame blooms in his chest, and when Connor tells him to hurry up, he walks and stares at the ground.

Zoe waits at the door. “Do you have your key?” 

“No,” Connor replies. “What’s wrong with yours?”

“It won’t fit!” 

“Well, what the fuck are we supposed to do now?”

Evan coughs. His breath dogs in front of him like a big cloud. “Can’t you just spell it open?” He asks.

“No,” Zoe groans. “My parents are like security freaks. No spells work unless it’s from them.”

“Maybe Mom’s home,” Connor says. He rings the doorbell. There’s the muffled sound of a song that chimes throughout the house, a little tune that’s pleasant to hear. Connor turns to Evan and mumbles something to him, but Evan doesn’t hear it over the final chord of the bell.

“I'm sorry, what?” he asks. Connor opens his mouth to repeat himself, but the door opens quickly, and there stands a woman. Evan assumes she’s Mrs. Murphy.

She doesn’t see him, not at first. She reaches for both Zoe and Connor and wraps an arm around both of them, kissing their foreheads and laughing when they pull away. Connor wipes at his forehead and steps out of the way, and that’s when she sees him. She looks to Zoe first, but then Zoe points at Connor, who’s reaching into his bag for something that Evan can’t see.

“Um, hello,” Evan says. He holds out his hand, the unbroken one, and prays that his palm isn’t sweaty. After a second, she takes it in both of her hands and shakes it with a smile.

“Hello, um…” she pauses.

“Evan,” he supplies. She smiles even wider.

“Hello, Evan.”

“Yeah, he’s staying with us for a few nights because his mom isn’t home yet. Can we go inside? It’s really fucking cold out here,” Connor says. Mrs. Murphy nods, and they enter the house. Right away, Connor pulls Evan aside. “Let’s go, I’ll show you your room.”

“Your mom is, um, really chill with letting me stay over, and stuff,” Evan says as Connor brings him up the stairs. They’re grand and big, with a pretty wooden bar for support that’s engraved with a flowering vine that blooms as you travel upwards. Evan runs his hands over the engravings of blooming buds and leaves in awe.

“She’s only being like this because she thinks I have no friends,” Connor deadpans. He turns right at the top of the staircase and they walk down a long hallway that’s lined with family portraits and pictures of Connor and Zoe when they were little kids. Some of the portraits talk, but Connor ignores them with a wave over his shoulder.

“Oh, well, my mom kind of thinks the same thing,” Evan says. 

They stop at a door. Even that is beautiful, with nice paneling and designs engraved in the wood. Evan waits for Connor to open the door, but instead, he turns to Evan. “But you have Jared. And Alana.”

“Well, Jared is more l-like a family friend, you know? He tells me he has to be nice to me because he wants his parents to pay for his apparition classes.” It’s mostly the truth. Sometimes, Evan wants to believe that they’re actually friends, and in some instances, he can see past the wall that Jared puts up. “And Alana has a bunch of friends. She knows everybody. She’s friends with you, too.”

“Like you said, she knows everybody. I don't, and my parents know I don't.”

Evan doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s the truth, he said it himself, but it’s a sad truth to look into Connor’s eyes and see him slightly upset. And that’s only what Evan can see. Knowing Connor, he’s probably more upset about this than he lets on. Evan looks down at his broken arm. “Well, you’re the only person who signed my cast,” he says. He holds his arm up with a small smile. 

“Huh,” Connor says after a moment. “Does that count for something?”

“Yeah,” Evan assures. A smile pulls at his lips without him trying to. “It definitely does.”

*

The room is big, even for a guest room, which is what Connor says it is. There’s a wardrobe in the corner with a full-length mirror next to it, and across from the queen bed, there’s a fireplace. Evan sets his suitcase down by the edge of the bed and takes it all in. Connor stands in the doorway and watches him. Even can feel his stare, the way his eyes glide over to him wherever he moves, and it makes the silence between them that much more uncomfortable.

“Um, can I have a glass of water?” Evan asks after a minute. 

Connor nods and pivots around. “Here, I’ll take you to the kitchen.”

Connor ends up giving him a tour of the whole house. His narrative is rather boring, or maybe he’s trying to make it sound boring, but Evan finds himself hanging onto every word. He likes knowing the history of things, and how long this house has been in the family and how it grew over the decades. If Evan looks closely, he can see the line of every expansion, the way classic mahogany wood floors clash into a retro carpet the lines the living room floor. Connor says he hates it. Evan smiles because he thinks it’s the coolest things he’s ever seen.

They end up in the kitchen. Connor opens the fridge and tosses a bottle of water in Evan’s direction, and Evan thanks whoever’s up there when he successfully catches it. He doesn’t think he would have been able to live with the embarrassment if he hadn’t. Connor’s mom watches as she leans against the counter.

“So, Evan, what happened to your arm there?” She asks.

Connor answers before Evan has the chance to. “He fell out of a tree-”

“Yeah.”

“-while he was fighting a dragon,” Connor finishes. 

Evan’s jaw drops. _”No.”_

Connor tsks, walking up to Evan and slings his arm around his shoulder. Evan’s head bumps against his shoulder, and suddenly, it's a little harder to breathe. “Come on, Evan, don't sell yourself short, it was a dragon. Super big, super dangerous, the works.”

“I- um,” Evan stammers gibberish, and Connor squeezes him a little tighter. Mrs. Murphy looks at the two of them and frowns.

“Connor, don't tease him. Evan, I'm sorry you broke your arm.” The oven beeps, and she grabs the oven mitt and pulls out a steaming pan. Connor slips away from Evan, and things are a little better and, strangely, a little worse too. It's not like he enjoyed being squished against Connor and barely being able to breathe and basically almost having a lie forced down his throat, but he's not going to deny that it was a little nice to be close to someone. Briefly, Evan realizes how weird that is, and shuts the thought out of his head immediately.

“Come on, let's finish the tour,” Connor says suddenly. They leave the kitchen and Mrs. Murphy and go through a hallway they passed over before. There are only two rooms in the hallway, and the one at the very end of the hallway is Connor’s. While they pass the other door, Zoe comes out of it, and Evan catches a small glimpse of her room. It looks strange, empty almost, nothing like how he imagined it- not like he excessively imagined her bedroom or anything, but he had a little idea of what it might be like.

What it looks like is this: bare walls, a plain bed with the same comforter as the one in Evan’s room, and basically all the same furniture. There is no guitar stand, despite the fact that Evan has seen her play several times in the courtyards. There is no poster of The Beach Boys despite her bragging about how she snagged it from a thrift store when she sat with him during the naming ceremony. 

She stops when she sees Connor and steps in front of him. She looks pissed, and when she talks to Connor, it's a tone that’s shushed so Evan can't hear. He does though, and he doesn't know if he should feel guilty about that or not.

“Mom’s making me stay in the guest room,” she whispers.

Connor shrugs. “So? I don't care.”

“You should. I'm not a fucking babysitter. Why can't Evan stay in the room next to you?”

“That's not his _job-”_

“It's not mine, either!” Zoe bursts. For a second, there is no sound at all except Evan’s own heart thumping in his ears, and there's a noise from the kitchen, like someone letting out their breath. Like someone trying to be silent while listening in on a conversation. Zoe looks at Evan and then at the open doorway to the kitchen, and she pushes past Connor and walks fast down the hallway. “Mom? Mom?”

When she’s gone, Connor’s shoulders drop. Evan gulps and steps a little closer to him. He doesn't know what to say, or how to make sense of whatever he just saw, but he thinks that maybe, a distraction would help. 

“Hey, um, is that your room?” He asks. Connor frowns and shakes his head as if to clear it, and then he nods.

“Yeah, yeah, come on.”

Connor’s room is dark. The two windows it does have face the back of the house, where a shadow is cast, so almost no natural lighting gets in. When he walks in, a bunch of candles light up, but he still walks over to an old desk and flicks on a lamp. It flickers, and a light buzz surrounds the room. His bed is pushed against a wall and is neatly made, dark green sheets a little wrinkled but clean. His comforter is folded at the end of the bed, and on top of it is a laptop. That's surprising. As technology progresses, of course even the pure blood families sometimes adapt to it, but Evan has never heard of them really dealing with MacBooks or iPhones or stuff like that. Connor sees him staring and shrugs.

“It was a present from my aunt. She thought it would help distract me,” he says. Evan wants to ask what, exactly, Connor would need distracting from, but Connor has already moved on. He leans against a bureau with an empty fishbowl on it, and says, “This is it.”

It's a lot different from Evan’s bedroom. The biggest difference is that Connor’s room is just… darker. Evan is used to his big window and the three lights in his ceiling. The candles cast jumping shadows on the walls and the lamp flickers, just adding to an eerie effect that was already there. Evan doesn't quite know what to say, or if he is even supposed to say anything at all. Instead, and stands in the doorway and looks around.

“It's, um, roomy,” he stammers. He hopes it sounds like a compliment. It's not like he doesn't like Connor’s room, it's just so different, and Evan doesn't really react well to new situations.

Which means the next five days are going to be rather interesting.

*

They eat dinner at five fifteen.

It's rather early for Evan. He tries to eat when his mom gets home, which is typically very late. It's fun, too, though. They reheat frozen pizza at midnight and watch old reruns of shows for the seventh time and Evan wakes up in the afternoon feeling well rested and happy. Of course, some nights he does have to eat before his mom comes home, but he always feels guilty when he goes to bed only to wake up to the humming of the microwave a few hours later. 

So he’s glad he hasn't eaten all day because it makes eating so early easy for him. It's good food, too. The plate Mrs. Murphy places in front of Evan is neatly proportioned and makes his stomach rumble. 

Across from him, Connor’s father watches him inquisitively, and it makes him a little self-conscious of how hungry he is. Maybe they think he doesn't eat a lot? He’ll have to make sure he eats slowly so he isn't the first one to finish, but not too slowly so that he is the last one. Then they'll think he doesn't like it, which would be horrible. 

Connor is already picking at his food, and Evan would do the same if it weren't for the little look Mrs. Murphy gives her son. Evan waits for a signal of some kind and keeps his hands in his lap.

“So, Evan, how are you?” Mr. Murphy finally asks. His wife sits down and picks up her fork, and everyone else starts eating.

“Oh, I’m good. Really good, actually! How are, um, how are you?” Evan asks, and at the last moment he adds, “Mr. Murphy.”

Mr. Murphy laughs. It's a sound that resonates deep in his chest, something that feels like it echoes. “Please,” he says, “call me Larry.” Evan smiles a little and nods.

They all talk about school. Connor answers in short, curt responses or takes a big bite of salad and points to his mouth with a shrug to say he can't talk. Zoe makes up for it. She talks in detail, mostly focusing on how Hufflepuff won their first game against Ravenclaw, something that no one really expected. She goes on for what seems like hours about how it felt when she caught the Snitch, but when Evan looks at the old clock on the wall, he sees it's only been five minutes. Evan finds himself lost in her words, and when the conversation turns to him, he has no idea how he can compare with someone who is so captivating.

With Evan’s luck, of course, the conversation turns to the worst.

“Oh, and what class was your father? I might have known him,” Larry asks. Zoe stops eating, and Connor looks up from where he has been sulking. He stares right at Evan and opens his mouth to say something, but Evan talks before he can.

“My dad wasn't a wizard,” he says softly. It's no secret that his dad isn't in his life anymore, that after Evan’s first year at Hogwarts, he returned to a home with one less parent and a letter hastily written that had been mailed a week later. He doesn't like the think about it.

“Oh, your mother, then.”

Evan forces a little laugh in hopes to get rid of the lump slowly growing in his throat. He hates these conversations. He hates being who he is. “Neither is my mom,” he finally answers. There's a moment of silence and Evan feels his anxiety spike, so he scratches the fabric of the napkin on his lap and tries to distract himself with the smoothness of it. “I think the magic is from her side, though,” he continues. 

It's quiet, and finally, Mrs. Murphy says, “We don't…” she smiles and shrugs her shoulders. “We don't care, honey.”

“Yeah, I think it's amazing that there's another wizard in your family. Your parents should be very proud,” Mr. Murphy says. Evan just smiles and nods his head. “Connor wrote to us and said you were in his Herbology class with him,” Mr. Murphy continues.

Connor’s jaw drops and he slowly turns to look at his father. _”Dad!”_

Mr. Murphy frowns. “What?”

“What Larry is trying to ask is,” Mrs. Murphy interrupts, “how did you two meet? Was it in Herbology?”

“Oh my god,” Connor groans. His head is in his hands, and he doesn't respond when Evan sends what he hopes to be a look that screams _Help-me-please-I-don't-know-what-to-say_.

“So, how is Herbology, by the way. When I went to Hogwarts, it was a class everyone dreaded,” Mr. Murphy continues.

Now, this is something Evan can talk about. He loves Herbology, loves everything about growing things and understanding how they work, loves knowing how to connect the dots between Herbology and potions and know how to create magic out of things that grow, and Evan realizes he’s said this out loud. He stops himself but then Connor stares at him and widens his eyes as if to tell him to continue. So Evan does. “When I was little me and my dad would grow a bunch of herbs- he was a big gardener- and I guess I picked up my love for plants from him. I especially love trees and actually spent this summer-” Evan cuts himself off and laughs nervously. They wouldn't care about the volunteer hours he put in at the local forest reserve. No one would. “Nevermind.”

“No, continue,” Cynthia says. “Please.”

Evan looks down at his plate, empty, and all of theirs. Connor is the only one still picking at his food. The rest of them are done, and they all watch Evan, waiting. Listening. 

Evan smiles a little and tells his story.

*

Out of all the things he forgot, not having pajamas was probably the worst. He can spell himself to smell good in the absence of a stick of deodorant. He can comb through his hair with his fingers. What he can't do is wear the few nice clothes he has to bed. Not only will they wrinkle, but it will also be downright uncomfortable.

So his problem is this: he either sleeps being uncomfortable or doesn't sleep at all. Of course, he could sleep with _no_ clothes on at all, but that is just highly inappropriate, so that isn't even an option. So Evan calculates that he can probably stay awake for two days, inhale a few cups of coffee, and only sleep for one night, thus only wrinkling one shirt and one pair of pants. Then, he’ll stay awake for the last three days and, after dinner at Jared’s, will finally crash in his own bed.

Evan explains this to Connor, who just looks at him like he's crazy.

“You realize that I can just _give_ you pajamas, right?” He asks. Evan's mouth goes dry. He didn't think of that. “Oh god, just- here, I'll find something for you,” Connor mumbles. He gets off his bed and shuts his computer, pulling open a set of drawers and pushing aside neatly folded clothes until he pulls out a pair of flannel pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt. He holds them out to Evan, and Evan grabs them and folds them over his arm.

“Thanks,” Evan says. 

Connor shrugs. “It's no problem. And here,” he crosses over to his wardrobe and pulls out a sweater that hangs all the way in the corner. It's a light cream color, something that really sticks out from all of Connor’s other clothes, which are typically dark. Connor places it on the other clothes in Evan’s arm. “In case you get cold.”

“Oh.” Evan looks down at his arm. Does he change here? Or should he go to his room? He feels it getting a bit harder to breathe, and is about to turn to Connor and say he's gonna go back to his room when Connor pulls off his sweater. 

“Put them on so I know they fit,” Connor says. “I don't want to have to get out of bed again.”

“O-Okay.” Evan gulps and waits for Connor turn around and grab clothes from the same drawer and quickly shuffles out of his pants, pulling on the flannel ones. He has to fold them up a little (a lot), but they’re comfy, really soft and warm. It's a little harder to get out of his shirt with the broken arm and bulky cast, but he manages, and he pulls on the white shirt and drops the sweater by accident. He reaches down to grab it to put it on- it really is cold- and that’s when he sees them.

He's not an idiot. He knows what they are, but it's too hard to wrap his head around, something incomprehensible. He stares at Connor’s side, at the scars that line the left side of his chest, and he wants to gag. There aren't that many, maybe nine or ten, but they're _there_ , pale lines that shine white against his already fair skin, and it makes Evan want to gag, because he _knows_ what those are from and he _knows_ he has to say something. He has to reach out and make sure Connor is okay, and he can not scare him away by making a big deal out of it. All Evan can manage to say is, "Oh my god."

Connor looks over his shoulder. "What?” 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Evan racks his brain for something to say, something to say that won't be too intrusive or ignorant. How can he say that he knows, that he understands and that he can help, maybe? How can he put all his feelings and thoughts into words? Evan feels like he might choke. He hates how he can't think of anything good to say; he hates how he can't even function right when he's put in any situation that's minorly challenging. Why can't he just be normal? Why can't he just try harder and say something just _say something-_

"Oh." Connor looks down at his chest and runs his fingers over his left side, brushing against the scars. Someone once told Evan silence is the most powerful answer, but this silence is dead, a lifeless blockage to all the answers Evan wants to ask. "Don't worry about it," Connor finally says, and then he pulls on a large pullover and rolls the sleeves all the way down. "They're old."

Evan nods as if that makes them okay.

That night, they watch a movie on Connor’s laptop. It's a horror film, something about a mom and her son and a stupid haunted book, and Evan spends most of it curled up in a ball covering his eyes with the sweater Connor gave him. He doesn't mention the scars. He doesn't ask about anything and Connor doesn't say anything, and when the movie is over Evan walks through the silent house, jumping at every creak of the wooden floors until he reaches his room. Then, he sleeps and he dreams of fair skin and pale scars; of tall trees and broken arms; of hearts that beat hard against their rib cage cages and he wakes up aching for something he cannot name.

*

Breakfast is good. So is lunch.

He doesn't see Connor much, strangely enough. He is distracted by long conversations with Mr. and Mrs. Murphy. He tries to call them by their first names, but it's just too weird, so they stop correcting him after a while. They ask about Connor a lot, which is strange, because they could ask him themselves, but nonetheless, he tries to appease them. Connor comes into the kitchen sometimes and makes up some huge lie about whatever questions they ask, but he leaves as quickly as he came, and Evan is left to clear the air. 

He speaks a lot, that afternoon, and when he leaves using the excuse he needs to write a letter to his mother, Connor’s mother says something that sticks with him as he walks down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

“You know,” she says softly, “I haven't seen Connor this happy in a long time.”

Maybe that's what drives him to Connor’s door. He wants to talk about it. He has to talk about it. He needs to be a good friend and the only way that’ll happen is if he sits down with Connor and talks about _it_. Evan remembers waking up with a bloody mouth this morning and feels the swollen skin of the inside of his cheeks. He had chewed them raw last night, something that only happens when he goes to sleep super anxious and upset. This bothers him, and even though he knows he can't fix it completely, maybe talking to Connor will help him open up in his own way. 

He knocks on Connor’s door. There's no answer. He waits for a few minutes and knocks again. “Connor?”

“He's sleeping,” someone says from behind him. Evan turns around. It's Zoe. She’s wearing leggings and a faded gray shirt with a design that has rubbed off and is barely visible now, and she pulls her cardigan to cover herself more when she sees Evan trying to make out the disappearing design. “He always takes naps.”

“It's three pm. He slept till noon,” Evan says slowly.

Zoe laughs. The sound is sour, bitter, filled with unnamed scorn. “Yeah, well, why spend time with your family when you can waste your time in bed?” Evan laughs nervously, and she sighs. “Do you wanna help me with something, Evan?”

“Yes! Yeah, um, what do you need?”

“Baking. Usually, my mom helps me, but she and Dad are about to leave, and I really need to do something right now or my brain will explode,” she mumbles. Her arms wrap tighter around her middle, and she swiftly turns around and walks back towards the kitchen. “You can come if you want or just wait for Connor to wake up if you think that’ll happen anytime soon.”

Evan watches her leave and turns back to Connor’s door. He raises his hand to knock again and then frowns. He puts his hand down and walks to the kitchen. When he turns to corner and his bare feet touch the cold tile floor, Zoe looks up with a smile. She already has the pans out and points to the pantry. “Hey, grab the sugar, will you?” 

“Yeah! I got it.” Evan opens the pantry and scans for the sugar. There are two bags, brown and white, and Evan turns to look back at Zoe. She’s busy pressing buttons on the oven. With a deep breath, he grabs both and places them on the counter. 

“Thanks,” Zoe says. She smiles and Evan smiles back, and for once, he doesn't care if it's lopsided. “You know,” Zoe says as she tries to put together an electric mixer, “I never knew that the kid Connor leant money to would end up being his friend.”

Evan laughs nervously. “Leant money to?”

“Yeah. At Diagon Alley, Connor needed to get a new tie and a new robe and needed to ask Mom for another galleon. He said you needed it more than him.” Zoe looks at Evan over his shoulder. “Funny how things turn out, right?”

Evan doesn’t have time to ponder over the fact that Connor helped Evan out months ago without him even realizing it because Zoe asks if he can find the rest of the stuff they need and if he’s going to be honest, it kind of hurts his head to think about. Connor was mean in Diagon Alley. It doesn’t make sense that he would just hand Evan a galleon with no questions. 

Then again, it doesn’t make sense that he would actively decide to spend time with Evan in the first place.

It takes them a little while to locate all the ingredients, and they have to substitute a few things, but Evan has faith that they'll turn out great, and he says exactly that. Zoe swipes her finger against the bowl and pops it into her mouth, humming. 

“I don't know,” she says. “It might need a little more flour. It's too gooey to be dough.”

“Oh, well, here.” Evan grabs the flour and fumbles, and suddenly, everything is white. He coughs up white powder, and rubs his eyes and looks at his hands only to see flour everywhere. Beside him, Zoe snorts and doubles over in laughter.

“I’m sorry, that was just too easy,” she giggles. Evan finally realizes what she did. She squeezed he bag the moment he opened it, and a cloud of flour exploded. Evan coughs again and laughs a little. All he tastes is the bland tastelessness of flour, and he waves away the particles that hang in the air.

“Of all the people in the world, I never thought a Hufflepuff would pull something like that,” he jokes.

Zoe grins. “We Hufflepuffs know how to have a great time, and if it means a little mischief, then so be it.”

There’s a cough in the doorway, and both Evan and Zoe turn to see Connor there, leaning against the open frame entrance to the kitchen. “Well,” he says, “thanks for waking me up.”

“I don’t think you need any more beauty sleep,” Zoe quips back. She goes back to the bowl full of what is supposed to be dough and scoops some of the flour that fell on the counter into it.

“You know, my therapist says sleeping is good for me. Do you really wanna be the reason of another episode, Zoe?”

“Those _episodes_ are all up to you, and are only to be held accountable by you.” Zoe stirs faster, and the metal whisk clinks against the bowl sharply, making a horrible sound that makes Evan wince. “And if you really wanna have one, go ahead! I’m not stopping you.”

“I-It was me, too,” Evan says quickly. “I spilled the flour and dropped the pans in the beginning, and the microwave beeped because we grew impatient and just melted the butter, so if that woke you up that is _all_ my fault-”

“Shut it, Hansen,” Connor snaps. “Zoe, don’t make me tell Mom-”

“Tell her what? That I’m baking? Something she asked me to do? Something she wanted us to do together but didn’t get to because you cursed me out and then went and had a depression nap?” Zoe slams the bowl down on the counter and Evan jumps, and finally, it’s like the both of them realize he’s there. Zoe looks down and gulps, and Connor lightly kicks the door frame with a sock-clad foot. The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on, and Evan steps back to leave, but Zoe beats him to it. “I’m just- whatever.” Her voice cracks and then she runs past Connor into the hallway. Evan hears a door slam, and then the faint sound of music. 

“I’m so sorry,” Evan says after a minute, although he doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. He feels uncomfortable, _really_ uncomfortable, and he doesn't know what to do. Part of him wants to follow Zoe. He would push Connor out of the way and wipe the flour off his face and shake it out of his hair, leaving it all over the floor like a trail. He would roll up his sleeves and open the door and walk in and see her sitting on the floor under the window, and then he’d swallow any anxiety he had left and hug her and reassure her that it's alright.

But as he raises his hand to wipe the flour off of his face, he stops, because no matter how hard he wants to push himself out of the kitchen and to Zoe’s door, he _can't_. He looks at Connor and his mouth goes dry, his heart stops and he feels something within him rise to attention. Anxiety floods his system but it doesn’t matter because he drops his hand and steps towards Connor, instead.

“You wanna help me finish this?” Evan asks. 

Connor looks up at him, teeth worrying his lower lip. They’re dry and swollen from how much he bites and peels at them, but it’s captivating, strangely enough. Connor stares at Evan's face and snorts, “You have flour all over your face.”

Evan licks his lips. Tastes nothing. He says, “So I’ve been told.”

(There’s something in that moment, something tangible in his words, so foreign that Evan doesn’t recognize it. Playful, maybe, carefree and rebellious, almost, feelings that Evan has rarely ever felt.) 

(“Flirting,” Jared will write later in a response to a hurried letter Evan writes that night. “I believe you accidentally flirted with Connor Murphy.”)

Connor nods slowly. He checks behind him, as if something might be ready to pounce, but then shakes his head as if to clear a thought and steps into the kitchen. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s get baking.”

*

The cookies are good. Zoe brags that they’re all her doing after dinner. Connor doesn’t argue, and from across the table, he compliments them genuinely.

Behind her hand, Evan sees Zoe smile.

*

The next three days go by in a blur. Evan spends his hours reading in one of the various interesting rooms (his favorite spot is the hanging egg-shaped chair in one small room made of practically all glass windows) and talking to Connor’s parents about what he plans to do with his mother when he sees her. Connor disappears during the day in little blocks of time, but when he returns, he seeks Evan out. They watch movies at night, usually two before Evan’s eyes fall heavy and he finds himself almost falling asleep on Connor’s bed, senses dulled to the smell of pine and mint and a hint of smoke. He jolts awake every time to the gentle creaks of the bed whenever Connor adjusts himself, or from a burst of audio that crackles to life in the speakers of the laptop.

It’s on the third night that Evan brings up the self-harm. He’s about to leave, humming a song from Moana that’s stuck in his head and reaching for the knob of the door when a feeling arises. He cannot explain it. It is too vast to even fit into words, an ache of something being absent that was never his, to begin with; a wish, a yearning, that overwhelms his brain and takes over every thought. He turns around and swallows any nervousness that threatens to choke him.

“You said they’re old,” he says. It’s weird to talk. He hasn’t used his voice in almost four hours, too focused on cowering from bloody images and jump scares and then following a girl with a purpose bigger than life. He can’t run away from the picture of Connor’s chest, though, something so real and so horrific and so _there._

Connor looks confused, at first, but then he slowly nods. “Yes, Evan,” he says. “They’re old.”

“You promise.” Evan’s voice cracks without him meaning to. He didn’t even realize he was this affected by it. He shouldn’t care this much, he _shouldn’t care-_

And yet, he does. 

“I promise,” Connor says. 

Evan nods and opens the door. It’s not the answer he wants but it’s the only one he knows he’ll get. For now at least. He knows he will sleep easier knowing the scars are exactly that. Scars. They are not a premonition for something larger to come. They are not something that is happening now. They are something that happened. For now, that is enough.

*

The fifth day, there is a knock on Evan’s door. He looks up from the books he’s reading, blinking away the words and focusing on the door.

“Come in,” he calls.

The door opens, and Connor steps into the room. Evan feels his back straighten. It's weird, how the energy has changed since yesterday. Evan doesn't know why, but he’s always alert when Connor is near him. Part of him feels guilty, feels like maybe he worries that Connor will turn on him in a moment of spite and lash out at him, but the more sensible part of him knows that won't happen. 

“I wanna go somewhere,” Connor says. He forces the words out, as if they are too bulky for his mouth, too unnatural for him to say. 

“Oh?” Evan doesn't quite know what to say. Is he supposed to say no? That Connor can't go somewhere? Is he supposed to say it's alright for Connor to leave him alone for another day? Nothing was stopping him previously-

“With you,” Connor adds hastily. “Together. Like, I want us both to go somewhere.”

Evan tilts his head to the side. The pages of his book slowly from abandonment. He has lost his place, but he doesn't care, not now. “Where do you want to go?” 

Connor’s eyebrows scrunch up a bit, and Evan waits for him to think of a place- at least that’s what he assumes he’s doing, but then Connor looks up at him and gulps. “You actually wanna come?”

“Uh, yeah! You invited me, I mean, and I haven't seen you all week, really- not like that isn't allowed! I understand you might want some time alone, which is totally okay.” He takes a deep breath. “I wanna come, but I just want to know where we’re going.”

Connor doesn't answer him. He doesn't tell him where they're going, nor offer any hints when Evan asks desperately. All he says is to wear something to keep him warm and wouldn't mind getting dirty and to meet him by the front door in ten minutes. He promises he’ll enjoy it, and pivots out the door.

Evan jumps up the second the door shuts behind Connor. He puts on his worn down pair of chinos and folds them at the bottom so the hole at the seam doesn't show, and then pulls on the sweater that Connor gave him over his shirt. He briefly wonders if this will be enough or if he should bring his school robe as something else to cover him if it snows or rains (he’s assuming they're going to be outside). He decides against it. He grabs a pair of thin gloves instead. He doesn't want to think of how stupid he’d look if he walked out of the room with his school robe, so he just pockets his wand, slips on his socks, and messily makes the bed before he leaves.

He waits by the front door for three minutes before Connor shows up. He’s wearing jeans that aren't ripped, for once, and a sweatshirt that is thrown over another hoodie. He has a knitted hat on and a scarf that hangs loosely around his neck. He looks Evan up and down and pulls the scarf off of him and holds it out to Evan.

“Put it on, you need it more than me,” he explains. Evan grabs it with a grateful smile and wraps it around his neck twice. He can't feel the fabric with his fingers due to the gloves, but around his bare neck, it’s scratchy and warm and makes his skin tingle. 

“Where are we going?” Evan asks again.

Connor opens the door and invites the winter air to come into the room. It drifts in slowly and immediately, Evan shivers. Connor bends down to tie his combat boots on, twisting the laces around his ankle before he ties them in a knot. “It's a surprise,” he says as he stands. He crowds Evan, and suddenly, it’s a little warmer. “Your ears are already turning red,” Connor observes. His voice is hollow, distant, and slowly, Evan reaches up with his gloved hands to cover them, heart racing.

“It's because it's cold,” he responds dumbly. Connor snorts and steps back. He looks outside.

“It is,” he responds. “Let’s go.”

When they leave, Evan looks up at the sky. He has a strange urge to stand still and open his mouth and taste the snow, to relive a scene from his childhood. There is a small part of him that aches for the chill against his tongue, and he doesn’t know why the feeling suddenly arises. Maybe that’s the thing with some winter days. They take the sun away that you find yourself starving for anything you once had before. 

Evan doesn’t stick out his tongue to taste the snow. He is too full of anxiety to do that. He is too wrung up on what-ifs and images of horror to imagine what others would think if he were to stop dead in Connor Murphy’s driveway and turn his head to the sky. He just keeps his head down and follows Connor to his backyard. They stop under a tree.

“Evan,” Connor says.

“Connor,” Evan responds. He can’t help but smile, and the cold makes his skin numb so he can’t even feel it.

“I’m going to ask you to partake in something illegal,” Connor finishes. Instantly, Evan stops smiling. His heartbeat quickens. This isn’t happening. This is _not_ happening. “Nothing too serious,” Connor adds. “Just apparating.” 

That’s even worse. What if they get splinched? Evan already has a broken arm, and that sucked enough. He doesn’t want to have a _missing_ arm. “No,” Evan says. He sounds stronger than he feels.

“I’ve done it before. All you have to do is hold my hand.”

“ _No._ ”

“Evan,” Connor pleads. “Just trust me.” He holds his hand out, skin pale and bare. Evan knows he could say no. He could turn back around and march through the snow and go back into the house, in the room he has taken, and read the rest of the day away. He could let Connor disappear again and pretend he doesn’t care.

Or he could take his hand.

When he grabs Connor’s hand, he feels his skin. It’s better like that, Connor instructs. He’ll hold onto Evan tightly and he won’t let him be splinched. He grips Evan’s hand with an iron grip, so tight it really hurts, and Evan grits his teeth in pain. His fingers grow numb from the cold and little circulation, and he looks up at Connor and finds him staring at him.

“What?” Evan asks.

“This might be uncomfortable,” Connor says, and then he shuts his eyes.

It’s like an explosion. Not even that, though. It’s like an implosion, too. Evan feels as if parts of him are shrinking while others are expanding. His eyes burn like he’s been staring into a flame for too long and his broken arm aches and thrums underneath his skin, and the only constant in Connor’s hand holding tightly onto his. Whenever Evan thinks his grip might be loosening, Connor holds onto him even tighter, and even though the whole experience is over in less than a second, it seems to drag on for an eternity. Seconds turn to years turn to months turn to seconds again.

When the pain is gone, and when his limbs again feeling again, Evan opens his eyes. Then, he turns to the side and throws up.

"I'm sorry," Evan chokes. 

Connor shrugs it off. "It's normal."

Then Evan looks up, stares right at Connor, and sees that they're in a forest.

He doesn’t know what he notices first. Maybe it’s how Connor’s eyes are so dark you can’t even make out where his pupils are. They’re dark brown, so deep and rich that Evan feels like he’s staring into an abyss. It makes his breath stop, and all queasiness from apparating slowly disappears. Then he sees the trees, climbing towards the sky and so tall that they reach the clouds, and Evan is in awe.

“Wow,” he gasps. He doesn’t even feel the cold anymore. His right hand is warm and tingling and when he looks down, he still sees Connor gripping it. He jumps and pulls away. “Oh my god, I’m sorry I was just so caught up-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Connor shrugs and looks up. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

It is. There are no words for it. Snow falls like moonlight and Evan reaches out his hand to cup the snowflakes that fall. Once they hit his skin, they melt into the crevices of his palm. “It is. It’s so… cool,” Evan finally manages to say.

Connor laughs. “That was good, Hansen.”

Evan frowns. “W-What?”

“The pun- nevermind.” Connor shrugs his shoulders and starts to walk through the now, stepping past the thick trunks of pine and oak. Evan follows, each step a heavy crunch in the snow. He can feel the cold wetness seeping into his sneakers, and after a few minutes, he starts to lose feeling in his toes.

“Where are we going?” Evan asks.

“To the tallest tree in this forest,” Connor says.

“You really couldn’t have apparated us closer, huh?” Evan calls out. In front of him, Connor snorts. He turns to look over his shoulder at Evan, and Evan can’t look away. The cold brings red to Connor’s face, a rosiness in his cheeks much like a child’s, and the tip of his nose is also red. When he grins, the corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly unevenly, but it isn’t ugly. It’s rather charming, Evan finds himself thinking.

“I could’ve,” Connor admits. “But I thought you’d enjoy a nice stroll in the woods.”

He isn’t wrong. It is rather beautiful, and no amount of cold can make Evan believe otherwise. He doesn’t speak, not until Connor slows to a stop. Evan gazed up and sees the tree. It towers over them. Like a spider web, branches spam across the sky in twisted ropes, stretching across the tops of the smaller trees around it. It is tall, bigger than anything Evan has ever seen. Evan must say that out loud because Connor turns to him and nods. “I know,” Connor says. “It’s really cool. That’s why we’re gonna climb it.”

Evan snaps his head in Connor’s direction. “What?”

“We are going to climb this tree,” Connor repeats. He walks around the trunk, reaching up to test some of the bigger branches by pulling on them. 

“No,” Evan says. He watches as Connor hoists himself up, pulling himself up while his boots scuff along the bark of the tree trunk. “No, I am not- I can’t.

 

“Why not? I’ll help you.” Connor reaches his hand down. “Just grab my hand. I’ll pull you up.”

That’s not the reason why. Evan is not climbing another tree, not again. Things have been going so well, and he doesn’t want to relive unpleasant memories just to appease Connor. “I seriously can’t,” Evan says. “I’m scared of heights. I have really bad balance and I’ll fall and I’m allergic to bark.”

“You’re allergic to bark?” Connor asks. 

Evan can feel his entire face go red. “Yes,” he says quickly. “Now I would really like to go back to your house because I might die if I stay here any longer because I am allergic and-”

“Evan,” Connor says. Evan stops talking. Snow falls heavily and hits his cheeks, and his teeth sting from the cold air he breathes in.

“Yes?”

“Grab my hand.”

Evan knows he doesn’t have to. One more pathetic excuse and he knows he can get Connor to give up and apparate them back home. But then he sees Connor’s hand, bare and pale from the cold, slightly trembling. He looks at the tree, at the grand height of it, and feels the pull of a memory.

(Bright sun, warm breeze and an entire forest down below, hands gripping and skin getting torn up by sharp bark until he exhales and lets go and-)

Evan reaches up, muscles straining, and when he grabs Connor’s hand, he smiles.

*

That night, Evan packs. Connor watches seated in Evan’s bed. Neither of them speaks.

Climbing the tree was… indescribable. Evan felt himself expand the higher he climbed. He pressed bare hands to branches barely holding the weight of the snow that stuck to them, watched as Connor’s lips turned from a soft pink to a bluish-purple hue. He soaked in the sight of the snow covered ground below, watched as the shallow footprints they made to walk to the tree were slowly filled again. Evan remembers leaning so far forward he knew that one loosened grip and he would tumble down to the ground. He remembers Connor sitting on the branch across from him and joking, “You gonna jump?”

Most importantly, Evan remembers shaking his head. “No,” he said, “I think I’m alright up here.”

Now, Mrs. Murphy tells Evan to come back soon. “Whenever you feel like it,” she says. “Just use some Floo powder, and you’re always welcome.” He holds his suitcase close to his chest when he walks into their fireplace. The flames are green, and they reach up high towards his knees, flitting against his clothes. 

“Thank you,” Evan says. He waves goodbye to Zoe, and then he looks at Connor. He feels like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what it even is. There's a feeling stuck in his head, the left over rush from being up so high in the tree, being so close to falling. He opens his mouth to speak, but then he feels the flames getting hotter. He gulps, closes his eyes, and says Jared’s address loud and clear.

Then, he’s gone.

*

The rest of break goes as Evan expects it to.

Dinner at Jared’s house is the perfect mix between embarrassing and cringey. The best thing is getting to see Squid again and hearing Jared complain about how damn noisy she is at night. When he finally get’s back to his house, coughing up ash from the fire hearth, he is met with a smiling mother and a cup of hot cocoa. He hugs her and doesn’t let go until he absolutely has to, legs tired and aching. His mind is muddled and exhausted, too, the conversation he had hours ago still flitting around his head, jumping up between quiet answers to his mother’s never ending questions. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying half the time, just nods and smiles and laughs and tries to push down the anxiety that starts to bubble up his throat. He doesn’t know why he’s freaking out. He had a good day, a great day and there isn’t any reason why he should be panicking. He needs to rest, that’s all. Just five more minutes and he can sleep.

After dozens of more answered questions, most of them revolving around Connor and his house and what they did together, Evan finally finds the right excuse to go back into his room. He leans down to hug his mom again, surrounding himself with the stale scent of the hospital and lavender perfume that does a poor job to cover it up. Before he turns to leave, she stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Is this new?”

“Is what new?” Evan asks. He wipes his eyes and hides a yawn behind his wrist.

“This sweater,” she says. “I like it! I mean, it's a little big on you…” 

Evan looks down and groans. Of course, this must have been what was nagging at him. He still has Connor’s sweater on. He had meant to give it back before he left but he completely forgot.

“No, it's- I gotta go to my room,” he mumbles. He grabs Squid and her cage from where they sit next to the dying fire and rushes to his room. He doesn't have an owl, but he does have a friend who has one, as well as parents flexible enough to get him Muggle technology. He opens his computer and quickly types a message to Jared.

**_Sent [1:13am]:_ ** _I need you to send an owl to Connor._

A few minutes later, after he’s changed and brushed his teeth, he gets a response.

**_Received [1:21am]:_ ** _what??? it's one am why are you up_

_**Received [1:21am]:** i mean, you like go to bed at eight. ur up wayyyy past ur bedtime little boy_

_**Sent [1:23am]:** Jared, please_

_**Received [1:23am]:** alright alright. what do u want me to say_

_**Sent [1:25am]:** “Hey Connor, it's Evan. I just want to tell you I still have your sweater and I'll give it to you after the break is over. Sincerely, Evan”_

_**Sent [1:26am]:** That's all._

_**Received [1:27am]:** dude…_

_**Sent [1:27am]:** Do not._

_**Received [1:28am]:** i mean, im not one to jump to conclusions but…_

_**Sent [1:28am]:** Please don't._

_**Received [1:28am]:** alright alright_

_**Received [1:31am]:** i sent it_

_**Sent [1:32am]:** Thank you._

_**Received [1:32am]:** no prob_

_**Received [1:33am]:** thats kinda gay tho_

Evan shuts his computer. He doesn't have the energy to deal with Jared’s teasing. There's a chill in his room, and the lights are off and his arms are heavy with exhaustion, so he grabs the first long sleeve shirt he feels. He recognizes it by touch, soft cotton brushing against his bare arms, still smelling like the boy who gave it to him and the forest they went to, and Evan falls asleep surrounded by the scent of pine needles and snow.

*

When he wakes up, there are two messages waiting for him. Both of them are from Jared.

_**Received [4:01am]:** ik ur asleep because its 4am but i got a response and dude… _

__

**Received [4:01am]:** what did u get urself into

__

_**Received [4:03am]:** .ATTACHED IMAGE._

__

Evan clicks on it. It's blurry (Jared has shaky hands), but the writing is big and bulky and familiar. He reads it with squinted eyes, two words that take up the entire piece of ripped notebook paper.

_Keep it. - C_

Evan’s stomach jumps. Suddenly, he is all too aware of the feeling of Connor’s sweater around him, surrounding him. His phone buzzes and he flinches in surprise.

_**Received [10:13am]:** ik u read the message _

__

_**Received [10:13am]:** evan, i can see right there that u saw it._

__

_**Sent [10:14am]:** I forgot pajamas and he gave me some and I forgot to return his sweater. That’s all._

__

_**Received [10:14am]:** okay... _

_**Sent [10:14]:** That’s it._

__

Evan doesn’t bother to read the response. Instead, he changes out of the clothes he slept in and unloads them and all of the clothes in his suitcase into the laundry bin under his desk. His mom knocks on his door not only a minute later and asks him if he wants to go to the local diner to eat breakfast before he gets his cast off, to which he agrees to. She doesn’t mention the white sweater that he tosses into his laundry basket; she just picks it up with a smile and leaves him to get ready.

*

Christmas break flies by. Every day melts in Evan’s hands, seconds slipping from his fingers like grains of sand, and before he knows it, he’s back on the train ride to Hogwarts. He tries to sleep, but every time he closes his eyes, imaginary images of his mother’s ER stories bubble up into his consciousness, and he gets all queasy. Usually, he saves these tales to tell to Jared whenever he wants to see him all uncomfortable and grossed out, but he’s careful to try to avoid him. He doesn’t want to talk about the sweater, about the note. He doesn’t even want to think about it. Every time he does, his heart speeds up and his hands get all sweaty and his stomach jumps. 

He focuses on Squid instead, running his thumb along her back, letting her nibble on the small crumbs of the cookie he tears off for her. He gazes out the window, warm breath fogging up the glass. He raises his arm to write on it and stares at his bare skin. He got so used to the cast that it’s weird to have it off. It’s a hollow feeling, an absence that he cannot place.

__

(Part of him wonders if maybe he misses the name rather than the cast itself. Part of him tells himself he shouldn’t mull over it.)

__

Despite his best efforts to hide, Jared finds him anyway. He slides open the door and shuts it behind him with a slam that makes the glass rattle.

__

“You’re an asshole.”

__

“Good morning to you too, Jared,” Evan mumbles. 

__

“I’m not gonna talk about the sweater. I could give less of a shit,” Jared clarifies. “But ignoring me for a week? Not cool.”

__

“Sorry,” Evan says instantly. “I was busy with my mom.”

__

“Tell me one,” Jared demands. “You owe me. You owe me the most fucked up Muggle injury story you have. Tell it to me.”

__

Evan smiles a little and peels his eyes away from the window, away from the scenery full of lakes frozen over and clouds that float low to the earth, covering the air in a heavy fog. He closes his eyes and thinks of one, one that makes his toes curl just thinking about it. When he opens his eyes, Jared already looks squeamish. “You sure you want me to tell you?”

__

“Is that a challenge, Hansen?”

__

Evan grins. “This one has to do with a man and a yard of Christmas lights, and a very unsettling X- ray.”

__

*

The realization comes slowly. It is like the walking into the ocean, each wave drawing you in, warm tides swirling their water around your legs, your torso, gathering around your neck until it drowns you in salt. For Evan, the first step is the day after he gets back. They’re in Herbology, and the first thing Connor says to him when he sees him is this: “I never realized how skinny your arms are.” 

Evan frowns. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

__

Connor shrugs and grabs Evan’s healed wrist and holds it up, circling his fingers around it. His grip is strong, sturdy, his skin warm and a little rough. The touch is enough to make Evan’s throat dry, and he can hear himself swallow. “I don't know,” Connor says. “It’s just that I’ve gotten so used to you with the cast. I don't even know if I’m gonna recognize you without it on. I don't have my label on you.”

__

“Ha, yeah…” Evan laughs half-heartedly, but it sounds too forced. _I don't have my label on you_ , Connor said. Something sparks deep in him, something that makes his stomach clench and his face heat up. He gently tries to pull his arm back. Connor just tightens his grip.

__

“You okay?” Connor asks. Evan looks up into dark eyes, eyebrows slightly knitted in concern. His pulse jumps; his heart feels like it's leaping into his throat. He doesn't know what's wrong with him. Why is he acting this way? 

__

“Y-yeah, totally,” Evan stutters. He feels like he can't breathe right.

__

Connor looks like he’s about to say something else, but Evan is saved by the professor walking into the room. Slowly, Evan pulls his arm back to his side, skin still tingling. Connor leans down close enough so that when he speaks, Evan feels his breath hit his ear. “Tomorrow’s Wednesday. We still gonna meet in the library?”

__

Evan nods. “Yeah, sure.” His voice is tight, too high and squeaky. 

__

Connor smiles. It’s a nice smile, small and soft and a little lopsided. “Cool,” he says, and then he walks back to his seat.

__

For the rest of the lesson, Evan is distracted. He keeps zoning out, keeps chasing fantasized images of pale hands and tree branches in daydreams. At one point, the professor taps her wand against the wood of his desk. “Distracted today, hm?” She asks. Evan swallows any words he might have accidentally stuttered out and instead hides his face in his hands as the sound of giggles encompasses around the room. Somehow, for a reason Evan cannot name, his eyes find Connor, and he sees that he’s the only one who isn’t laughing. Seeing that makes him feel only a little bit better.

__

*

As the weeks pass by, Evan slowly slips back into his routine. He has a list: get up an hour early, walk around the school until breakfast starts, go to classes, lunch, read in the library with Jared and Alana, dinner, get ready for bed, and sleep to repeat the whole cycle over again. Evan doesn’t notice the change until it’s too late, doesn’t notice how every morning he somehow ends up near the Slytherin Dungeon as if something has pulled him there.

He never goes in. He spends his morning walks almost always in thought, either trying to remember the things he studied the night before or over thinking moments of embarrassment that happened weeks ago, so it isn’t a surprise that he ends up in places he had no intention of going to. He’s done it before; has accidentally walked into the girls bathroom, a Quidditch strategy meeting, and even once passed by a custodian closet only to hear some rather unpleasant noises coming from inside. These incidents are usually one in a hundred, although each time, Evan dies from the embarrassment.

__

This, however, is different; it keeps happening. He usually realizes where he is and leaves before students begin to flow out of the door, but the experience still leaves him worried and full of questions. He figures that he can just ignore it and hope he falls out of the habit before anyone realizes that the weird Gryffindor kid has been sulking around the Slytherin Common Room door.

__

One week after discovering his weird new walking habit, he finds Connor waiting outside the door for him.

__

“I saw you walk past here the other day,” Connor explains as they walk. “I just wanted to see where you go.”

__

“Oh, well, I don’t go anywhere,” Evan mumbles. “I just like to walk around. Clear my head, I guess.”

__

“Ah.” They walk in silence, Connor slowing his stride to stay by Evan’s side as they walk up the stairs to the Great Hall. Evan sometimes slows down to talk to one of the many talking portraits as they pass through hall after hall. They all notice the absence of his cast. Only some notice the taller boy beside them. On more than one occasion, Evan gently nudges Connor forward with a lame excuse about having somewhere to be, and they walk away, Evan waving over his shoulder. 

__

“So, how was your break?” Evan asks eventually. Silence is comfortable when he’s alone, but with Connor beside him, it just feels awkward. He keeps watching Connor in the corner of his eye, tracking the way he slouches past open empty classrooms and reaches out to graze his fingers across the stone walls as they walk.

__

Connor shrugs. “I mean, you were there for like half of it.”

__

“I mean after I left,” Evan clarifies. “Like, I went to a forest reservation with my mom. We saw a flying squirrel. Do you know what those are? They’re really weird.”

__

“Sounds like fun,” Connor says. “I didn't do much. I smoked a lot of pot, though. Now that was a lot of fun.”

__

“You know what weed is?” Evan asks. He’s surprised. It’s not like you can't get high when you're a wizard-- taking Herbology is basically a class that's half filled with wizard-stoners who want to learn how to grow any and all plants that offer the slightest hallucinations and dizzying side effects-- but weed is… kind of a Muggle thing.

__

Connor just laughs. Really laughs. He stops and leans against the wall to support himself. “Yes, Evan, I know what weed is. Some other Slytherin kid hooked me up before the break. I mean, yes, a lot of pure blood families try to distance themselves from Muggle culture, but not my family. Zoe is still thinking about moving into the Muggle world after school, you know. She says she wants to teach children, but not here. She wants a more normal life I guess.”

__

Evan didn't know that. He’s actually surprised Connor knows that, of all people. They don't even seem to talk much. “What about you?” he asks. “What do you wanna be?”

__

“Oh, I don't know. I still have a year to figure it out, you know?” Connor shrugs, and Evan takes that as a sign to back off a little. He should be more sensitive, should have realized that talking about the future isn't a comfortable subject for everyone. Hell, if someone asked him that, he would freak out too.

__

“I'm sorry,” Evan says quickly. He wants to add something, wants to tell Connor he knows what he means. _I have no idea what the future holds and that terrifies me_ , maybe, or _I know how you feel because I don't think I’ll get anywhere in life, not with me being the way that I am._

__

“It’s cool,” Connor says. They're on their way back around to the great hall to head to breakfast, and Connor turns to look at Evan. He asks, “You got the note, right?”

__

“Uh, yeah. Yes, I did,” Evan answers. “About that, actually, I really don't want to take it from you so I have it in my room if you want to-”

__

“It’s fine, Evan,” Connor says. They breach the dining hall doors, and Evan stops and watches as Connor walks to the Slytherin table. He turns around and smiles. “It suited you better anyway,” he adds.

__

Evan watches Connor leave with his heart pounding out of his chest, and the realization slowly creeping up on him.

__

*

It finally hits him in potions class.

“This,” the professor says, “as you may know, is an Amortentia potion.” The whole class sits up in their seats, all eyes are drawn up to the small vial at the front of the room. “Pass your N.E.W.T.s this year and continue with Potions, and you will be an expert at dangerous potions like this one. I’ll come around for you each to get a closer look, and you may smell it if you like.”

__

Evan leans back in his seat. He doesn't want to smell it. He doesn't even like anyone now. His professor stops before each student, each one leaning in and closing their eyes as they smell it. Some go red, others shrug, and some have no real reaction at all. No one has denied it, and yet everyone watches as someone takes a whiff. As she gets closer, Evan feels his hands start to get sweaty. He can't be the first one to say no. He’d rather anything but be singled out. One student away and Evan clenches his teeth. he already knows what he likes; he likes the outdoors and chamomile tea and soft scarfs and trees and Squid. Nothing should come as a surprise.

__

The potion comes to him, and he takes a deep breath. He smells trees, but richer, heavier; he smells snow, the chill that makes every breath burn his nose; he smells the library, the sharpness of old paper, the distinct scent of vanilla that comes from the books near the place where he and Connor study.

__

The last one makes his stomach drop.

__

__

_*_

_“Tell him I can’t tonight. Tell him I don't feel well and I don't want to get him sick,” Evan says._

Alana frowns with concern. “You sure you're sick? You look fine to me, albeit a little pale.”

__

Evan nods and then shakes his head. Students pass by them, shuffling out of the way, and Evan pushes himself further into the stone wall of the hallway, cold seeping through his robe. His teeth clench together as he speaks. “I just- I can't tonight, okay?”

__

“Tell him yourself. He’ll understand.”

__

“No! I just- I don't want to see him at all,” Evan admits softly.

__

Alana’s eyes narrow. “Why…?”

__

“I really, _really_ don't want to say. Just tell him I can’t today and I’ll see him in class tomorrow,” Evan finally says. He hopes Alana doesn't question him. He can't handle her grilling suspicions, not right now. Not when everything seems to be falling apart. He can barely get a sentence through his mouth without wanting to pull all his hair out, without wanting to claw his way out of his skin. He looks up and sees a flash of someone, a boy taller than the other students he pushes past. Connor.

__

“Alright,” she starts, but Evan gets up before she can finish. He actually feels sick, feels bile creeping up his throat. “Evan,” Alana calls, but he is too far gone, tripping forward and ducking past students. “Evan!” He sticks close to the walls, shoulders hiking up to his ears. In the corner of his eye, he sees Connor look up at the mention of his name, and not soon after that, Alana waves him over. 

__

Evan runs around the corner and up the moving staircase, tripping up the last step in his panicked speed. He gets up quickly enough, and that’s when it really starts, tiny tremors spreading through his body, nerves buzzing as he glances around with wild eyes to ensure no one saw him. He feels something dribble down his neck, reaches up and pulls his fingers back to see a streak of red. He cut his chin.

__

Evan walks up the rest of the way and takes out his wand with shaking hands. _“Episkey,”_ he whispers. His voice trembles. Nothing happens. He tries again, putting power behind his words, but it fails again. He can never do magic when he’s freaking out, when he’s so close to an anxiety attack that he can almost touch it, can taste it in the air around him.

__

He waits it out. It takes twenty-three minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Evan counts each one in inhales of eight and exhales of five, finds solace in staring at the wall opposite of him until his eyes burn, stands with his knees locked because he can’t seem to relax. He fights it off, but the unease sticks with him. _It will happen eventually_ , he thinks slowly. Every word seems to suspend itself in his head, sticks to his mind as he ponders over every sound. He says the words out loud, testing his voice. “It will happen eventually, Evan. It will happen eventually.”

__

He arrives thirty minutes late to his Charms class. The professor doesn’t say anything.

__

*

Squid goes missing three days later.

Three days after the Amortentia potion. Three days after Evan stops walking in the morning. Three days after he shows up to Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures late, always late, avoiding Connor’s gaze every time. 

__

He arrives back from dinner with a biscuit cupped in hands and walks into a room that is silent. No rustling of the bedding in the cage, no squeak, not even a scratch against the wire bars of the cage. Just the cage hatch, open.

__

He doesn’t worry. This has happened before, and every time Evan freaked out, it was over nothing. After all, Squid isn’t a stupid animal; mice typically never are. They’re used for Muggle science experiments and aren’t brainless. So he places a few crumbs of the biscuit on the floor and leaves the rest in the cage and changes for bed. He sleeps easily that night, exhaustion settling over him as thickly as the blanket that rests upon him.

__

He wakes up, sees the untouched crumbs and biscuit, and feels the first pinch of panic prick at his chest. It takes a few deep breaths to get out of bed. He kicks back the covers and bends down to grab the crumbs off of the floor. He dresses slowly, putting on layer after layer. He doesn't quite know how to describe how he feels because it's many things at once. It is the uneasiness of a cup too close to the edge of the table; the deathly pause while you wait with your toes hanging off the edge of a cliff. Evan knows he is close to toppling over, can feel it behind the thin veil that everything seems to be hidden behind. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, and then he leaves his room to walk.

__

He searches for Squid without realizing it. He checks corners, scans the walls for holes or cracks she might have crawled through, walks fast all the way to one side of the castle only to turn back again when his stomach growls so loudly, a painting awakes on the wall. Apologies pour like water from his lips, and he immediately pivots around and-

__

Bumps right into a chest.

__

“I’m sorry,” Evan says immediately. He knows who it is, realizes it the moment he inhales sharply in surprise, the memory of the Amortentia potion tugging at his brain. 

__

“Hansen, funny running into you here, huh?” Enmity drips from Connor’s voice. He’s livid. “I was starting to think I was the only one who enjoyed talking long, tiresome walks around the castle while ignoring my friends.”

__

Friends. Evan chokes on the word. Friends are all they are. Friends are all they ever will be. It feels like a thorn has pricked his heart. “I didn't feel well,” Evan manages to say. It is part of the truth.

__

“Bullshit.” Connor steps back, and Evan is forced to look at him. He wants to cry. He feels like he’s going to until he realizes how utterly pathetic that would be. _Really, Evan?_ his brain seems to taunt. _Crying like a child? Grow the fuck up. Stop feeling everything. Stop caring so fucking much._

__

“I didn't,” Evan tries to convince, but even he doesn't believe it.

__

“Is this what you do?” Connor interrogates. Evan opens his mouth but then shuts it and bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. “Do you just be nice to everyone and play the timid card so you have some company when you're lonely, and then drop them? Because that is seriously fucked.”

__

Evan’s eyes widen in panic. “What? No-”

__

“Or did someone tell you how funny it would be to mess with me? And so you thought, hey, why not give it a shot. Won't hurt me!” With each exclamation Connor steps forward, every step forceful and intimidating and blood-curdling. Evan’s stomach lurches.

__

“That isn't- oh god.” Evan’s back hits a wall, and he breaks. “I swear that’s not it and I would never do that-”

__

“Then why else are you ignoring me? Is this entertaining for you? Are you gonna turn around and tell everyone how fucking crazy I am so people stop focusing on how pathetic you are?” The words bite. They tear. They rip Evan apart. 

__

“Stop,” Evan pleads. “That’s not it.”

__

“Then what is it?” Connor demands. His voice is still harsh, still powerful and demanding attention. Evan shrinks at the sound of it and he hates it. Anxiety curls its hands over his neck, pushes its fingers into his mouth and chokes him silent, but inside, a small part of him pushes. 

__

(He shouldn't be treated like this. It recognizes that fact. Feeds off of it. Nurtures the thought until it echoes in his head, bounces off every wall until he can no longer hear the sound of his heart beating out of control, can no longer feel the wall blocking his air.)

__

Evan opens his mouth and he breathes.

__

He says, “Please step away from me.”

__

He says, “I need to find my mouse.”

__

He says, “I know you're mad at me. You have every right to be. I am sorry.”

__

He says, “But what I need right now is for you to believe me.”

__

A split second; a break in time. Evan looks at Connor and feels his chest tighten. He doesn't force the feeling down. He accepts it. 

__

“That doesn't answer my question,” Connor says.

__

“I know,” Evan responds.

__

“I'm still fucking pissed off.”

__

“I know.”

__

Connor steps back, and Evan relaxes. “You still owe me an explanation, Evan.”

__

“I do,” Evan agrees. “I know I do, and I’ll give it to you… just not right now. Please?”

__

Connor looks at him and raises his hand. Evan expects a punch and braces himself for it. Instead, fingers brush over his chin, nails lightly scraping against the cut Evan gave himself on the stairs when he ran from Alana three days ago. Evan fights the urge to close his eyes and lean in. “Alright,” Connor agrees. He speaks slowly, his voice no longer cutting through the air. It glides, gentle. “Let’s find that mouse.”

__

*

They retrace Evan’s steps. Evan really is hungry, feels a little lightheaded from his aching stomach, but he doesn't mention it. Every time his stomach growls again, Connor just urges him to walk a little faster.

“She might be near the dining hall. You said she sometimes crawls around the tables there and eats the food people drop, right?” Evan nods and wonders why he didn't think of that in the first place. “Alright,” Connor continues. “We’ll check there first.”

__

They do. Evan walks around the entire dining hall and Connor walks past each table and hikes up the tablecloth. Other students protest, but he shuts them down quickly, and they sit back down and tuck their legs close to their bodies as he ducks his head under the table to see if he can see Squid. Evan finds himself staring more at Connor that at the small crevices at the bottom of the walls, and each time Connor moves to stand back up straight again, he makes sure to look away before he’s caught. 

__

They don’t find Squid in the dining hall, and Evan starts to really worry. “We should go to class,” he says.

__

In response, Connor hands him half of a muffin. “We’ll cut.”

__

“But-”

__

“We’ll find her,” Connor repeats. “Now eat.” Evan does and leaves a small chunk of the muffin in case they do find Squid. 

__

So they skip Herbology. They roam the castle, and when the halls fill with students rushing from their rooms or from the library or dining hall, Evan is pushed close to Connor, his front pressed against his back almost uncomfortably. It makes his mouth go dry like there’s cotton stuffed in his mouth, making words hard when Connor asks him where they should check next.

__

The truth is that Evan doesn’t know. Hogwarts is huge and ever changing. It is never the same every day, moves and shifts and reveals rooms whilst closing and blocking others. Evan likes to think his mouse is smart, likes to think that Squid understands more than he thinks any animal can. He got her as a friend, the only constant in his life through years of hell, and it just now starts to sink in that she’s gone. She’s gone and Evan is almost about to cry about a stupid mouse.

__

(He knows it isn’t just that. He knows it’s everything: the return to school, the realization of his feelings for Connor, the absence of the small animal he usually finds comfort in holding and caring for.)

__

“I don’t know,” Evan says. His voice cracks, and at the sound of it, he turns around immediately.

__

“Let’s check your room again,” Connor offers. Evan shakes his head. 

__

“I already did.”

__

“Yes, but she might be hiding under your bed or something-”

__

“She isn’t,” Evan snaps. He turns around the corner and sits against the wall, hangs his head between his knees and pulls at the threaded ends of his shoelaces. A minute later, Connor joins him. He slides his back down the wall and sits next to Evan, so close that Vean can feel the heat of him, dull and warm through the layers of clothing between them.

__

“Alright, Hansen,” Connor says. “I want my explanation now.”

__

So Evan tells him.

__

Not about his feelings, no. Definitely not. That is _never_ happening, nuh uh. 

__

“I have anxiety,” Evan says. Right after he says it, he freezes up. It was easy. So, so easy. And yet it feels terrible. He thought it’d feel like a weight off of his shoulders, he thought he’d feel lighter. Instead, it’s like he gave something too big away, made a promise he couldn’t keep. 

__

The thing is that his anxiety is exactly that: it’s _his_. Every strand of him is weaved in with this crippling fear that he can never stop, and telling someone feels like he just gave away his biggest weakness. In movies and books, Evan always remembers the big secret being revealed with the feeling of release. Here, he just feels so much worse.

__

“I don’t know why I said that,” Evan whispers. “I mean, it’s true. It’s obviously true. But I don’t know why I just-” Evan cuts himself off with a groan.

__

“So you ignored me because… you have anxiety.”

__

“No, that’s not it. I mean, that’s part of it?” Evan looks up and looks at Connor. “I can’t talk to people. I can’t understand anyone around me and I can barely understand myself, most of the time.”

__

“That’s alright,” Connor says.

__

Evan shakes his head. “It really isn’t. I can’t stand myself sometimes. I look at everything I have, all this magic and three great friends and all the opportunities in the world and yet I can’t seem to connect with other people. I can’t do anything with what I’ve been given. And sometimes it’s just too much, way too much that when one thing takes me by surprise and trips me up I can’t handle it and it’s so _pathetic_ -”

__

“Evan.” Connor cuts him off. “I know what you mean.”

__

“No, it’s like something constantly choking me and I can’t do anything-”

__

“I know,” Connor says again. “My brain’s fucked, too. I know.” Evan doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and clenches his jaw and Connor asks, “You know why I disappeared during the day during winter break?”

__

Evan shakes his head and sniffles. “No.”

__

Connor shrugs. “I go to therapy. Some Muggle doctor who thinks I go to a really far away boarding school. I spend my summers in group therapy, which by the way, is the worst thing ever. But the point is that I know I’m not alone, even though it really feels like I am. I am all kinds of fucked, trust me, but there is literally nothing I can do about it except live out of spite of it.”

__

Evan can’t help but laugh. The sound is watery, thick and garbled, but Connor looks at him and smiles. Evan wipes at his eyes. Feels the small pin needle feeling of tears burning behind his eyes. “You’re kidding.”

__

Connor shakes his head. “I’m not. Whenever I feel like shit, whenever this huge black lump inside of me tries to weigh me down, I get up and shove a giant middle finger in its face. That’s how it works for me.” He grabs Evan’s arm, the one that used to have the cast on it, and goes quiet. “I know sixteen-year-old boys don’t just fall out of trees, Evan. I also know that most wizards don’t choose to endure the tedious process of letting a bone heal on its own. That’s endurance. That’s testing your limits. If you really didn’t have control of your anxiety, do you think you would have actively put yourself in a position to be ridiculed and teased every day?”

__

Evan looks at Connor. He doesn’t have any words to respond, nothing that can explain the creeping feeling of hope that spreads from his chest. It’s like a flower blossoming, spreading its roots everywhere. Here is someone, dealt by the world their own fair share of problems and fucked up issues, and in the spam for five minutes, have made Evan realize that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t a slave to his mental illness like he feels he is. 

__

“Sometimes,” Evan admits, “I feel on top of it. When I was with you over break, I didn’t feel it at all, but now it’s just really hard.”

__

Connor nods with a sad smile. “That’s how it is, sometimes, but you just have to remember that you will be okay. Sometimes you just need a little help.”

__

“Thank you,” Evan says.

__

Connor gets to his feet. He wipes away any dust or dirt that may have stuck to him and then offers Evan his hand. “It’s no problem. This is returning the favor.”

__

“Favor?” Evan asks. He wipes at his nose again with his elbow and grabs Connor’s hand. He feels his grip, tight and hard.

__

“You’ve helped me too, Hansen,” Connor says. He pulls Evan up, lifting him with ease and not even stepping back when Evan almost bumps his nose into his chin. “I think it’s safe to say we found each other.”

__

They’re close. They’re so close. Connor is looking down at him with the shadow of a smile on his lips and Evan feels his pulse jolt. He holds his breath. It might happen, he finds himself thinking. It could happen, it could totally, definitely happen. He thinks Connor leans down a little closer and Evan wants to stay still, wants to meet him halfway, wants to pull Connor down by his crooked collar and bump his lips against his own and breathe Connor in. 

__

The last thought is so surprising that Evan jerks back a little and the back of his head smacks against the stone wall. The burst of pain numbs him.

__

“I think we need to go back to class now,” Evan says. His body is frozen still, and he is not looking Connor in the eye, no. He refuses to even glance at him after thinking that.

__

(His head still races with the image of Connor leaning in. Was that real? Was that just a part of his imagination?)

__

“Yeah… alright.” Though Evan can’t see him, he can hear the awkwardness in Connor’s answer. Evan’s heart trembles in his chest.

__

They go back to class, and they don’t talk the entire way there. After, Connor somehow slips away, and Evan doesn’t see him for the rest of the day. 

*

When he finally returns back to his room, Squid waits for him in the middle of the room. Under his bed, Evan finds mouse droppings and a weird makeshift nest of dust bunnies and an abandoned scarf that he forgot was there.

__

“You were right,” he tells Connor the next day. “She was under my bed.” He stands on the other side of Connor’s desk and tilts his head to see what Connor is writing. “Guess we didn’t need to waste all that time yesterday,” he laughs. 

__

Connor stops writing and looks up. Slowly, he smiles, but it’s too small, too forced. “Told you so.”

__

Evan opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but then Connor stands up, chair scratching against the floor in a sound so loud that everyone looks up and stares at them. Evan closes his eyes and pushes past the panic of knowing all eyes are on him. 

__

“Sorry, Evan, but I just remembered I left something in my last class. I’ve got to go,” Connor says in a rush. He leaves before Evan can even say anything.

__

*

That night, a note is brought to him by an owl, dark gray in color with huge black eyes that seem to swallow up any light that comes across them. He reads it by a dying fire, and the bird flies off the second Evan unfolds the parchment paper.

_We need to talk. Tomorrow. - C_

__

Evan goes to sleep feeling the first drops of an attack pinprick at his chest.

__

*

Tracking down a Slytherin is hard to do.

Tracking down a Slytherin with little friends and roommates that are too busy smoking pot (Evan now knows who Connor’s plug is) to care where their housemate went is even harder.

__

Basically, trying to find Connor Murphy is a nightmare.

__

Evan looks _everywhere_. He runs up and down the moving staircases over and over, skips his Architectural Magic class to search through corridors he’s never even seen nor heard of before. All he finds are talking paintings that scream at him for interrupting their coma-like naps and cobwebs abandoned by spiders that have probably left for the gardens in hope of catching more insects. There is nothing here, no life (if you don't count the snobby paintings), and Evan feels more depressed just being here all alone. 

__

He must have done something wrong. That’s the only reason why Connor would just say that they need to talk. Maybe he scared him off with all the talk of his anxiety. But no, that doesn’t make sense, because Connor _helped_ with that, made sure Evan didn’t feel alone.

__

Briefly, Evan wonders if that was all just for show; if Connor realized right after that Evan wasn’t worth the time and effort. It made sense, after all. Connor handles his problems, has learned through therapy. Evan doesn't have that, doesn't have the ability to ask for it. Every one of those thoughts breaks him down inside until he’s a mess. It doesn’t make sense. He felt so great yesterday, felt like he could conquer anything his anxiety threw at him. Now he feels like it’s trampling him over and over again. _It’s not fair_ , he thinks, _to have felt so good only to fall again._.

__

Evan isn't one to blame, but he kind of feels like most of this is Connor’s fault. Just today, the anxiety tightening its grip on him either every breath. Part of him wants to storm up to Connor and shake him by his shoulders and scream _Why would you say we need to talk? Do you know what that does to a person like me? Do you know I can't breathe without a million thoughts crowding my head telling me what I did wrong?_

__

Newsflash: you don't tell someone with horrible anxiety that you need to talk with no other context. It ruins their day.

__

In the end, he doesn’t find Connor. He isn’t in Herbology and he isn’t in Care of Magical Creatures, so Evan skips dinner and walks back to his room with his feet dragging behind him. The worse thoughts creep into his head slowly, as he walks past the students gathered in the common room, all of them talking and whispering and gossiping. He wonders if somehow, by some rare chance, Connor _knows_. Maybe Evan was the one who leaned in, the other day, and maybe being friends with someone who likes you that way, let alone a boy who does, is a total no-no in Connor’s book. It makes sense, makes total sense.

__

When Evan gets back to his room, he starts crying.

__

The tears are thick, warm, fall between the cracks of his lips and he tastes salt. He tries to calm himself down, covers his mouth with his hands and puts pressure to block the choking sounds that he makes whenever he tries to gasp for air. 

__

Connor needs to talk to him about how gross Evan is, about how he can never be seen with Evan again because Evan _likes_ him, and Evan didn’t even fully understand until now, but now he does. He would be fine with admiring Connor from afar; that’s what he did with Zoe, and he was never confronted about it, never driven to the point of being even remotely interested in telling her how she felt, and that was fine for him. But if Evan’s feelings for Zoe were impossible, that made Evan’s feelings for Connor just unimaginable. 

__

There’s a knock on the door, Evan stops breathing.

__

“Evan,” Connor says through the door.

__

Evan doesn’t answer. He wipes his eyes and looks in the small mirror that hangs across the room. Luckily, it’s dark. The only light in his room comes from the setting sun, and his red and swollen eyes are only barely visible. He coughs past the lump in his throat and walks to the door. 

__

“Hey, Connor,” Evan greets softly. He only opens the door a crack and peers out from behind it. He needs to have a barrier, something to block Connor out in case he starts trembling again.

__

“You weren’t at dinner,” Connor says.

__

“I wasn’t hungry,” Evan responds. Connor’s fingers curl around the door frame, and Evan pulls the door back a little more. “You wanted to talk,” Evan continues. He pushes through the panic that builds up. He just needs to get this over with, just needs to hear whatever horrible thing Connor has to say and then try to fix himself before he succumbs to his anxiety. “Is it about yesterday?”

__

“Yeah, it is, actually,” Connor says. Evan’s stomach drops. He was right. Connor knows. “Can I come in?”

__

_No_ , Evan thinks. _No, you can’t. Please leave._

__

He opens the door wide and steps away from the door. When Connor steps in and shuts the door behind him, Evan’s heart rate triples in speed. Still, he forces himself to talk. He needs to show that he’s strong, even if he's just pretending. “So,” he starts, “What, um, what do you need to talk about?”

__

“It’s about yesterday,” Connor says again.

__

“Is this about my anxiety? Do I make you uncomfortable?” Evan babbles. “I mean, we can just forget all about that. I swear I can learn how to hide it better and-”

__

“What? God, no. I don’t care about that, Evan,” Connor says.

__

“Oh.”

__

“No, it’s about what happened after,” Connor mumbles. “It’s- God, this is going to be so weird to say.”

__

“Weird?” Evan squeaks. He’s sweating and his hands are getting a bit tingly. He did something wrong, he knows. Connor knows Evan was thinking about kissing him and it’s all Evan’s fault, fuck fuck fuck.

__

“I mean, shit.” Finally, Connor turns to look at him. He looks nervous and it’s rubbing off on Evan. His breathing is more labored and he holds his breath because maybe that will help.

__

(It doesn’t. It never does.)

__

“I don’t know how to say this,” Connor says.

__

And then he grabs Evan and he kisses him. 

__

It's unexpected, the final breath before hitting the water, and it's the final crack before the dam breaks.

__

Evan shoves Connor away and gasps for air, but there is no air and he’s choking and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he’s going to die because _he can’t breathe._

__

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Connor jumps back and looks between the open door and Evan.

__

“I can’t breathe,” Evan manages. He’s breathing so fast it’s like he can’t even feel it. He’s vibrating. His heartbeat is fast, a hummingbird’s wing caged in his chest. He thinks he's going to black out. He thinks he already did. His lips are wet and warm and they sting. “Holy shit,” he gasps. He hates cursing. Why is he cursing? It feels right. He can barely tell what’s happening and his thoughts keep repeating themselves. It feels right. He says it again. “Holy shit. Did you just fucking kiss me?!” 

__

Connor says, “Fuck.” He reaches for Evan and Evan lets him. “You're freaking out. I should have asked. I don't know why I didn't. I was supposed to tell you but I didn’t know how and I am so sorry.”

__

Connor talks more and Evan tries to focus on that. He watches Connor’s mouth move and thinks of the ocean waves and imagines sand slipping through his fingers, and when he squeezes his hands he pinches Connor’s arms but he doesn't think Connor minds. He just keeps saying sorry and asking Evan if he’s okay. It should help, but it doesn't. 

__

“It's not the kiss, it wasn't the kiss,” Evan gasps. He’s still breathing hard and his hands are starting to tingle up. His feet are numb, and he shakes a little to get Connor away from him because that should make things better, but Connor pulls Evan into a hug and squeezes hard.

__

(Is it a hug if he isn’t squeezing back? Is it a hug if he digs his nails into Connor’s arms just so he can feel something physical? Is it a hug if there seems to be only emptiness in it?)

__

“Just… breathe,” Connor says. Evan takes a deep breath and inhales pine trees and smoke. It makes him dizzy.

__

Evan doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but soon he feels himself start to drift. He needs to sleep. He's so tired and he’s still freaking out a little and he needs to sleep it off. He tells Connor that and keeps saying he's sorry, and somehow he gets to the bed but he isn't sure how. All he knows is that Connor keeps talking and reassuring him that it’s alright and Evan is too gone to even listen. His breathing slows the minute he shoves a pillow on top of his head to shut out the noise and not let Connor see the way his fingers reach up and touch his lips. They still sting, but he isn't sure if it's because of the fact that Connor just kissed him or because when he has attacks, everything tingles and goes numb. Maybe it's a bit of both, he decides, and then he falls asleep.

__

*

Evan wakes up when it's darker.

He sits up with a horrible taste in his mouth, the kind that only comes from sleeping without brushing your teeth. It sticks to his gums and makes him gag a little, and when he moves to go fetch a glass of water from the pitcher on the table across from him, something at the edge of his bed stirs. “Stay,” Evan says.

__

Connor stays.

__

That night, Evan does the unthinkable. His brain is lax, tired, overstimulated from everything and it is one of those times where nothing can break him. It is the exhilaration of reading a letter when you’re eleven years old and believing the world rests in your hands; it is the air hitting your face as you fall from the tallest branch of the tree; it is the snow atop your nose as you’re drawn further into the forest on a cold December day. He crawls across mountains of sheets and quilts. Reaches blindly for Connor’s hand and grabs it and squeezes it tight so he knows he is there, so he knows this is real. He presses his fingers right into Connor’s wrist and applies pressure. He doesn’t care if it hurts him. He doesn’t care if his nails scratch into Connor’s skin and make him bleed. He feels a pulse, a thrum, quicken under cold skin. He does the unthinkable. He does what he wants to do.

__

Evan Hansen kisses Connor Murphy.

__

He has been kissed only once before. It was during a summer camp after his second year, away from all the magic and mystery, away from everything magnificent, away from everything that his mother said made him so special. It was a Muggle camp- a church camp, of all things, the only one running for a decent price. The Jewish camp was too far away, and his mother worked all summer long, so he spent seven weeks being the only Jewish boy in a Christian camp.

__

Her name was Alice and she was the only one who took bible study seriously. She called the scriptures magic, said they were proof of something greater in the world. Evan didn't necessarily believe in God, but it wasn't like he was totally against it, either. There was something about her faith that made him look forward to the next day of camp, something that made him almost have faith in the prayers they would say each morning before activities started. When Alice kissed him, she took Evan's hand first and told him he was worth ignoring God’s word.

__

“But just this once,” she clarified, and he nodded like the idiot he was, quick and unknowing. She kissed him hard on the lips and then ran away to play with her friend not a second later. It was done, a second of time that was nothing to really think about, but to Evan, it was something. If only for just a moment, it was something. Evan stood there, thin legs wobbling for only a second before he got over it. This was before the waves of anxiety, before everything that ruined his life. The kiss itself was nothing special, just a press of lips on lips and a little taste of spit before the cold air brushed on his mouth.

__

So yes, Evan has been kissed before, but it wasn't at all like this. If that kiss was like pressing his lips to a stone wall, kissing Connor Murphy is like kissing a star. Hands pull him in and clench his waist and fingers wrinkle into his shirt, so tight he can feel the nails even through the layers of clothing. His neck is craned up a little and the muffled squeak of surprise he makes gets swallowed up by the feeling of everything bursting inside of him.

__

Connor breathes him in, tastes him, moves his lips so slightly and grips Evan tighter, and Evan thinks of the kiss before, trying to see if anything that happened then can be applied now, but then he realizes this is totally different. Back then, he just let his hands hang by his side and stayed still and it was over in three seconds. Now, Connor tilts his head pulls him closer like he's the last thing he has, and maybe Evan is. Nothing has ever prepared him for something as monumental like this, so he's pretty much all on his own. 

__

“I’m never going to forgive you for this,” Evan says softly, pulling away. “You made me freak out so much.”

__

“I'm sorry. I didn’t know you would have a panic attack from me kissing you,” Connor whispers back. 

__

Evan says, “I thought you were going to tell me you hated me because I almost kissed you in that old hallway.”

__

“And I was coming to apologize for almost kissing you in that exact same old hallway. And tell you that I really liked you.”

__

“You could have saved both of us the stress and me the panic if you had just kissed me there instead of sending me some vague message late at night.”

__

Connor frowns. “You’re the one that leaped away and hit your head against the wall. Speaking of which, are you okay?” Connor’s hand reaches up and cups the back of Evan’s head, fingers feeling for a bump. 

__

“Yes, I’m fine,” Evan says. “I am totally okay.”

__

Connor smiles and says, “Good.” Then, he kisses Evan again.

__

Evan shuts his eyes and thinks of Connor and all his mysteries, all his possibilities, and oddly enough, he thinks of the math classes he took over the summer at home (his mom thought it was outrageous that they didn’t even teach math at Hogwarts and left it up to Evan to continue his Muggle education until his fifth year) and how it took him so long to understand trig and how wonderful it made him feel when he finally tackled his first problem; it is that kind of joy, the joy of finding an answer, that Evan feels now.

__

He kisses Connor back. It's messy and it's sloppy but it's theirs, and Evan smiles and leans in closer and tastes magic.

__

*

The ambiguous case is the result of a triangle that looks like it has no real solution but ends up with two possible answers. It is looking over the edge of the cliff and jumping down, only to have someone reach out and pull you back up when you're about to hit the water. The ambiguous case is the impossibility that all of the sudden becomes twice as possible.

Evan being wanted by someone else just for who he is was an impossibility. Seeing Connor smile of real, pure joy and knowing it is because of Evan was an impossibility.

__

And yet somehow, they both just happened. Two impossibilities suddenly just became an all too real reality.

__

*

“I can’t do this.” 

“Yes, you can.”

__

“No, I really can’t.” Connor paces back and forth, steps hurried and quick against the floor of Evan’s dorm room. Evan watches from his bed, knees crossed and hands busy cupping Squid to stop her from jumping away and accidentally stepped on.

__

“Yes, Connor, you really can,” Evan pushes. “Three steps, remember?”

__

“The first two are a fucking joke. The third is impossible.”

__

“It’s only impossible because you’re making it impossible. Step one, watch the game. Step two, cheer for Zoe. Step three-”

__

“Congratulate her when she wins,” Connor finishes.

__

“Exactly!” Evan beams.

__

“And if she doesn’t win?” Connor questions. He has stopped pacing and now stares right at him. It makes some anxiety stir in Evan’s gut, but he does his best to push it away. It's been weeks, and Connor has been looking at him a lot more, lately. He’s more or less used to it, by now.

__

“Then she doesn’t win. You still congratulate her.” Evan sits up straighter as Connor stops in front of him. He tilts his head up, eyes daring.

__

“What if she rejects it?” Connor asks slowly. His words are careful, calculated. “What if she pushes me away? That’s all I’ve been doing to her for years. I deserve it.”

__

“If that happens,” Evan says, “then you wait and then you try again until it works.”

__

“And after that?”

__

“That’s all on you.”

__

Connor snorts. “Of course. Leave the hardest part for me to tackle alone.”

__

Fingertips brush against the underside of Evan’s jaw, trailing up to his cheek. Evan tilts his head to the side, and when Connor leans down, he places a hand on his shoulder and holds him away. They’re so close that when Evan talks, his lips almost touch the skin of Connor’s chin. “Not until you tell her,” he says.

__

Connor smirks. “You’re evil.”

__

“Taught by the master.”

__

“I’ve ruined you.”

__

“Quite possibly.” Evan smiles and scoots back. “We should leave now.”

__

Connor purses his lips in thought and dips back down again. “Or we could-”

__

“Leave. Right now,” Evan says quickly with a grin. Connor holds up his hands and walks backward, grabbing his coat off of the chair. He pushes the door open and leans his arm against it. Evan pulls his sweater over his head, the one Connor gave to him over winter break that he still has, and Connor grins when he sees it.

__

“Cute,” he comments. Evan rolls his eyes and ducks under his arm to leave the room.

__

At the Quidditch pitch, they meet up with Alana and Jared. Alana talks to Connor about another upcoming Potions project. Jared stares intensely at Evan’s (Connor’s) sweater. 

__

“This must be intense for you, Connor,” Jared says suddenly. “Caught between cheering on your house or your sister.”

__

“Not really.” Connor shrugs and looks down at Evan with a small smile. “Zoe’s easily got this one in the bag.

__

“Interesting,” Jared says with a sly grin. “Very interesting.”

__

They all eventually split to go sit with their respective houses. While Evan and Connor watch Jared and Alana leave, Connor looks down at him. “Do you, um, do you think he knows?” Connor asks hesitantly.

__

Evan nods with his lips pursed. “Yeah, definitely.”

__

“I wasn’t even being obvious about it though?”

__

“You're literally holding my hand,” Evan says. 

__

Connor frowns and looks at their intertwined fingers, his hand pale against Evan’s gloved one. “That counts as being obvious?”

__

Evan doesn't answer. He just gives Connor's hand a squeeze and then pulls away. “You know what you need to do,” he says before he turns to walk to the stands where all the Gryffindor's are. Connor nods and Evan smiles. “I'll meet you here once the game is over. We’ll go down together, but-”

__

“I'm on my own once I see her,” Connor finishes. “I got it.”

__

“You'll do fine,” Evan promises. “Now go enjoy the game.”

__

Connor leaves, but not before kissing Evan’s cheek. It isn't perfect, and Evan scrunches up his nose with a smile as he wipes away at the dot of saliva Connor left on his skin, but the little wink from Connor before he turns around to walk to the stands is totally worth all the weird stares that some students send his way. He still feels the spike of panic whenever someone glares at him in a particular fashion, but Evan knows a little better how to deal with it, how to tighten and clench his hands into fists and then relax to release any built up tension and stress. It's little tips, small actions that help, some of them brought to him by Connor, most of them done by his own research.

__

So yeah, Evan is doing just fine. Things really are getting a little better. He still slips up, has had another really bad panic attack from the stress of having to present in class for a History of Magic project. It was bad, worse than the one he had when Connor kissed him, and he didn't have anyone to help him through it. He still has his anxiety. He knows that will never go away, no matter how many times he kisses Connor or spends his evenings with Alana and Jared in the library. It will always be there, sitting in the corner of his brain until it slowly builds itself up enough to choke him, but now he opens up about it, spends late nights talking to Connor about it, even eventually sends a letter to his mother about the possibility of summer therapy. 

__

Slowly, things are looking up.

__

*

Hufflepuff doesn't win. 

They lead for most the game, always ahead, until the Ravenclaw Seeker yells in triumph with a raised fist, light gleaming off of the Snitch. Evan watches as Zoe slowly lands, immediately surrounded by her teammates. 

__

Connor keeps his word. He meets Evan where they parted before, and they slowly walk down to the entrance to the field. Both teams are being congratulated by friends, and when they breach the small gathering around the Hufflepuff team, Evan hangs back. He watches Connor hesitate, sees the exact moment Zoe looks up from her friends, laughing off tears.

__

It's quiet. Not really, but Evan feels like it is. Connor steps forward, says something Evan can't hear, but it makes Zoe’s friends laugh before they walk away, making their own little circle to continue talking. Zoe steps forward, no more than a foot away from Connor, broom by her side as if she might jump into the air with it at any second. Connor doesn't speak. Instead, his arms that hang loosely at his side slowly raise up.

__

Zoe practically tackles him.

__

That's when Evan leaves. He sees them hug, sees Connor’s lips move and sees her laugh wetly, still crying a little. 

__

Yeah, things are totally looking up.

__

*

“You're dating Connor Murphy,” Jared finally says that evening in the library.

Connor looks up at Evan with wide eyes and a questioning face. “Is that what this is? I thought the hand-holding was strictly no homo.”

__

“You guys kissed literally thirty seconds ago,” Jared deadpans.

__

“Oh yeah,” Connor says. “Yeah, that was full homo.”

__

Jared looks at Evan. “You never thought to tell me about this?”

__

“I knew you'd just say rub the fact that you were right in my face.”

__

“Exactly! Why the hell would you take that away from me?”

__

“Shut up, please,” Alana shushes. She doesn't look up from her book. “I have a test tomorrow and would like to pass.”

__

“Alana, this is monumental.” 

__

“Jared, they're dating.”

__

“Exactly! Monumental! Hansen finally found someone who accepts him for who he is, tree fetish and all.”

__

Evan's jaw drops. “What?!”

__

“Guys, quiet!”

__

Despite Alana’s best efforts, they're still kicked out, and the entire time, Connor is laughing. Evan thinks it's worth it, worth the points deducted from each of their houses and the horrible glares dull of distaste they receive from any students that hear the whole exchange. He sees Connor laugh, gets pulled close to his chest and bumps his cheek against his shoulder as they walk outside into the freezing courtyard, Jared holding half of Alana’s books as punishment (Jared: “I didn't get us kicked out!” Alana: “I will literally hex you.”).

__

“A tree fetish, huh?” Connor asks before he drops Evan off outside the Gryffindor common room. 

__

“Shut up. That isn't even a thing.”

__

“Whatever you say, dear,” Connor teases. Evan feels his pulse jump and can't help the grin that tugs at his lips. 

__

“Goodnight,” Evan says. 

__

Connor grabs his hand and gently squeezes his fingers before letting go. “Goodnight.”

__

*

They say goodbye much like they say hello. 

Evan stands rigidly in front of Connor. His hands are stuffed his pockets, eyes averted to the ground that he kicks it with his shoe. Evan waits with his breath held. He has never done this before, not really. With Jared and Alana, it was always a hug and a wave and a promise to write often, and then they all leave, go their separate ways until the next year. With Connor, it is different, somehow.

__

“Alright, Hansen,” Connor finally says. He still won't looks at Evan, but his hands leave his pockets and he holds them weirdly out to his sides. “You know what to do.”

__

Evan doesn't know what to do. He stares at Connor with confusion until Connor widens his arms a little more, and then Evan understands. He stumbles forward and hugs Connor, pushes his nose into the thin fabric of his sweatshirt and inhales, soaks in the smell of pine and ash and squeezes hard.

__

“I'll write,” Connor promises. Evan doesn't say anything, just closes his eyes until the only thing he can hear is the fast thrum of Connor’s heart. “And I'll send you pictures of the forest. It's really nice in the summer, you know. Maybe I can apparate-”

__

“No,” Evan says. He steps back a little. Connor keeps his hands on his biceps, thumbs brushing against his bare arms. “We are not doing that again.”

__

“I got my license! And I was at your home for one night during Easter.”

__

“One night! If you can't picture it perfectly you'll lose your arm,” Evan squeaks. His shoulders hike up and Connor pushes them back down and steps back.

__

“I'll just appear in your family room with no warning, then,” he says pointedly. Evan has nothing to say to that, so he purses his lips and looks back to the brick column, right under the sign that reads 9 ¾. Below it, Zoe waits. She gives a little wave to Evan when she sees him watching her, and Evan weakly waves back. Connor turns and sighs. He goes back to scuffing the floor with his shoe.

__

“You'll write,” Evan says softly.

__

Connor offers him a small smile. It breaks through Evan like an arrow. “Yes, Evan.”

__

“And I'll write back,” Evan says. Suddenly, it seems like no words can be enough. He doesn't want to leave, he doesn't want to go. His heart is straining in his chest, torn between what he wants and what he knows he must do. 

__

He doesn't want to say goodbye.

__

He doesn't. Connor steps forward and leans down, and Evan shuts his eyes tight when he feels the soft press of lips skimming his forehead. He breathes in one last time and commits every second to memory. _This is what I will remember_ , he thinks. _Not spilled drinks on my head, not cruel stares or nights spent in panic. Just this._

Before he leaves, Conor presses a small envelope into his chest. "Don't open this until you get home," are the only instructions, and then he leaves, walks side by side with Zoe as they leave the station.

Evan cheats, a little. He opens the envelope in the car as his mom pulls into the driveway of their home. In it is a time, a place, and a date.

_Diagon Alley, 2:15, August 15._

_I'll be waiting. Don't lose your money this time. -C_

__

*

He gets the first letter three days letter, sent by an owl as gray as the storm clouds that hang in the sky, feathers wet and ruffled. He opens his window and it steps inside with a small hoot. It drops the letter from its claws onto the floor. 

Evan reads it with a smile that he tries to fight. It’s so dumb, full of pointless events and god-awful descriptions of group-therapy (drawings included), but at the end, Connor writes something that makes the rest of the letter worth it.

__

_It sucks here, but I know you'd find a way to make it fun. One of those ways might just be to write back to me asap. Until then, I’ll wait here with millions of coping techniques floating around my head._

__

_I hope you're doing well, Evan. - C_

__

_ps; change your mind about apparating??_

*

_Dear Connor,_

_I started therapy. I also started working at the forest reservation again._

_There are so many things that would be easier to tell you about in person, so I think I'll wait._

_Sincerely, Evan_

_ps; yes. Wednesday, 6:00pm?_

*

Evan is in his seventh year when he shows up to Diagon Alley with a smile on his face and a letter in his hand, a promise to meet again. 

There is no broken arm. There is no broken wand. There is only the boy who walks slowly up to him, long hair wavy and messy and just the way Evan likes it. Connor opens his arms, and Evan steps inside.

"It's been a long time," Conor says. Evan call feel him speak, chest rising against his own with every inhale, throat shifting with every word.

Evan just nods. He doesn't even know if he can remember how to move his tongue, how to open his mouth. Instead, he just presses his lips against Conor's and smiles, and the best part of all is that for once, he doesn't really care about anyone who might watch. For him, there is only Connor, and that is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to everyone who commented on the first part and left kudos, thank you so so much! comments are what keep me going, and each nice word you all said made me so so happy. I hope you all enjoyed this fic!! have a great day lovelies


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